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UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


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ONLY,  and  is  subject  to  a  fine  of  FIVE 
CENTS  a  day  thereafter.  It  was  taken  out 
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I 


■ 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH: 


A   TALE    OF    VIRGINIA. 


MARY    GERTRUDE. 


NEW    YORK: 

D.    APPLETON   &   CO.,    200  BROADWAY 
PHILADELPHIA: 
GEORGE  S.  APPLETON,  148  CHESNUT  ST. 
MDCCCXLV. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hi 


http://www.archive.org/details/philiprandolphtaOOmary 


PREFACE 


The  incident  on  which  this  tale  is  founded  is 
one  very  common  in  the  early  history  of  America, 
and  has  been  chosen  by  many  transatlantic  wri- 
ters as  very  suitable  for  an  interesting  story.  But 
hitherto,  the  scenes  and  characters  thus  interwo- 
ven have  been  placed  in  New  England,  the  home 
of  the  pilgrim  fathers-,  «,nd  are  illustrative  of  their 
peculiar  and  romantic  position. 

However,  the  more  settled,  but  not  less  re- 
markable condition  of  the  earlier  settlers  of  Old 
Virginia  presents  details  of  equal  interest ;  and 
in  adapting  one  of  the  many  with  which  its  his- 
tory is  so  rife,  the  present  story-teller  has  not 
aimed  at  copying  or  borrowing  from  sources  gen- 
erally known  and  deservedly  popular. 

This  tale  is  intended  to  convey  a  moral  to  the 
youthful  reader,  and  to  show  wherein  true  hero- 
1* 


6  PREFACE. 

ism  consists  ;  exemplifying,  in  the  ®onduct  of 
Philip,  preserving  self-denial  and  moral  courage. 
The  writer  trusts  that  her  story  may  prove  both 
amusing  and  instructive  to  those  for  whom  it  was 
especially  and  originally  written. 
My,  1844. 


,.  * 


PHILIP  RANDOLPH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

The  discoveries  of  Christopher  Columbus  filled 
the  greater  part  of  Europe  with  astonishment,  and 
roused  a  spirit  of  curiosity  and  adventurous  heroism 
in  almost  every  nation  at  all  capable  of  appreciating 
the  difficulties  of  his  undertakings.  In  his  day,  mari- 
time affairs  were  not  conducted  with  the  skill  of  mod- 
ern times,  and  it  was  a  perilous  attempt  to  put  to  sea 
in  a  small  vessel,  with  an  ignorant  and  timid  crew,  to 
cross  oceans  hitherto  considered  boundless  and  unex- 
plored. The  great  object  in  view  in  all  the  voyages 
of  Columbus  and  his  immediate  successors,  was  the 
discovery  of  a  northwest  passage  to  India  ;  nor  does  it 
appear  that  any  of  the  navigators  of  the  fifteenth  and- 
sixteenth  centuries  were  aware  of  the  impracticability 
of  such  an  enterprise.  The  Spaniards  gained  so  much 
by  the  discoveries  of  the  great  Genoese,  and  so  large 
an  acquisition  was  made  both  of  dominion  and  terri- 
tory to  their  sovereign,  that  a  spirit  of  emulation  and 
jealousy  arose  among  their  neighbors,  and  others  fol- 
lowed in  the  track  they  had  pursued,  so  that  Spain 
soon  found  that  she  was  not  to  have  all  the  good 
things  of  the  New  World  to  herself.     The  Portu- 


8  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

guese  had  long  been  a  seafaring  people,  and  had  made 
many  successful  voyages  to  Africa,  India,  and  the 
Western  isles.  Some  of  the  Italian  states  also  had  a 
share  in  the  glory  that  attached  to  maritime  discovery. 
Henry  VII.  of  England,  a  wise  prince,  made  some 
efforts  to  extend  the  commerce  of  the  nation,  and  sent 
out  Cabot  in  quest  of  the  supposed  nearer  communi- 
cation with  the  East.  Two  years  after  the  return  of 
Columbus  from  his  first  voyage,  Cabot  set  sail  from 
Bristol  and  reached  the  east  coast  of  America.  He 
sailed  from  Labrador  to  Virginia,  but  the  expedition 
was  fruitless,  and  till  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  the  dis- 
covery was  never  followed  up.  That  sagacious  queen 
wisely  improved  her  navy,  and  rightly  judged  it  the 
most  proper  means  of  defence  to  her  sea-girt  realm. 
The  enthusiasm  for  maritime  adventure  was  so  great 
in  her  reign,  that  private  individuals  fitted  out  ships  at 
their  own  expense,  and  whole  towns  furnished  arma- 
ments for  research  and  conquest. 

It  was  thought  advisable  to  plant  colonies  in  such 
parts  of  America  as  had  been  discovered  by  the  Eng- 
lish, and  a  charter  was  granted,  empowering  the  li- 
censed to  make  settlements  on  whatever  lands  they 
chose  to  select,  and  that  all  who  thus  settled  them- 
selves should  hold  their  property  from  the  sovereigns 
of  England.  All  these  privileges  were  conferred  by 
Queen  Elizabeth,  without  reference  to  the  people  or 
natives  her  subjects  would  probably  find  on  these 
strangely-acquired  territories.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh 
had  the  honor  of  giving  a  name  to  a  beautiful  tract  of 
country  lying  on  the  eastern  shores  of  North  America, 
between  the  latitudes  of  31°  and  42°,  calling  it  Vir- 
ginia, in  honor  of  his  queen ;  but  James  I.  divided 
the  country  into  two  parts,  one  of  which  received  the 
name  of  New  England,  and  the  other  retained  that  of 
Virginia,  which  was  "  the  most  ancient  and  most  val- 
uable of  the  British  colonies  in  North  America." 

English  colonists  founded  Jamestown,  on  the  James 
river,  with  various  settlements  either  in  its  immediate 
vicinity  or  higher  up  the  same  stream.     Friendly  re- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  bl 

lations  were  maintained  with  the  natives,  and  a  short 
time  before  our  story  begins,  a  young  Englishman  had 
married  the  daughter  of  the  Indian  king  Powhatan. 
The  settlement  was  rather  populous,  and  the  life  of  a 
settler  endurable,  though  it  had  its  hardships,  and  to 
the  indolent  or  fickle  offered  nothing  attractive  ;  but 
many  of  those  who  had  perseverance  and  fortitude 
sufficient  for  the  trial  soon  had  the  satisfaction  of  find- 
ing their  situation  comfortable,  and  every  difficulty 
fast  vanishing  before  them.  Invincible  patience  and 
good  humor  smoothed  the  way  to  contentment  and 
ease.  When  their  families  grew  up  around  them, 
and  their  plantations  prospered,  the  colonists  felt 
cheered,  and  looked  forward  with  cheerful  hearts  to 
extended  improvements  and  success.  Many  of  them 
were  blessed  with  the  light  of  religion  in  their  dwel- 
lings. 

As  long  as  Powhatan  lived,  the  English  were  in 
perfect  peace  with  their  savage  neighbors,  and  though 
a  garrison  was  maintained,  no  one  seemed  to  think  it 
would  ever  be  required  for  the  safety  of  the  colony. 
Jamestown  extended  itself  along  the  low  bank  of  the 
river.  It  can  not  be  considered  as  the  most  favorable 
site  for  the  first  English  town  of  America,  but  one  of 
the  highest  spots  within  it  had  been  appropriated  for 
a  church.  That  church  is  now  a  ruin  ;  but  pleasant- 
ly do  those  vestiges  recall  the  days  when  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Jamestown  resorted  to  the  shelter  of  its  rude 
but  hallowed  walls. 

The  services  never  sounded  more  touchingly  than 
on  the  morning  of  the  —  of  March,  16 — .  The  cler- 
gyman of  the  settlement  and  an  assistant  priest  entered 
the  church  together.  Many  an  eye  glanced  toward 
the  countenance  of  Doctor  Haverdean,  and  all  seemed 
to  love  its  kindly  and  holy  expression.  His  long  gray 
hair  fell  over  his  snowy  surplice,  waving  in  shining 
locks  upon  his  venerable  shoulders,  and  the  manner  in 
which  he  read  the  offices  was  both  fervent  and  im- 
pressive. How  did  those  slightly-tremulous  tones 
sink  down  into  the  hearts  of  the  assembled  congrega- 


10  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

tion,  arresting  their  attention,  and  gradually  leading 
them  to  a  forgetfulness  of  all  outward  things,  till  ev- 
ery devout  hearer  became  a  spiritual  worshipper ! 
There  was  no  clerk  in  Jamestown  church,  nor  lead- 
ing in  response  or  psalm,  nor  pews,  nor  organ.  The 
congregation,  old  and  young,  joined  heartily  in  the 
service,  the  sweet  voices  of  children  now  and  then 
rising  clear  and  shrill  above  the  deep-toned  murmurs 
of  their  elders.  All  were  provided  with  benches,  ex- 
cept the  governor's  family,  who  sat  in  a  more  elevated 
position  than  the  rest,  and  around  whom  the  official 
personages  of  the  colony  had  peculiar  sittings  ap- 
pointed them.  It  did  not  escape  the  observation  of 
some  inquiring  eyes,  that  might  have  been  better  em- 
ployed, that  the  governor's  face  wore  an  unusually 
anxious  expression.  Instead  of  the  open  and  agree- 
able aspect  remarked  at  all  times  upon  the  manly 
countenance  of  Sir  James  Yeardly,  was  now  ob- 
served one  of  care  and  ill-concealed  disquietude. 
Deep  were  the  responses  of  his  agitated  voice,  and 
after  the  collect  for  peace,  no  amen  was  louder  or 
more  fervent  than  his  own. 

The  greater  part  of  the  congregation  left  the  church 
with  an  air  of  thoughtfulness  most  gratifying  to  their 
pastor,  and  they  passed  on  to  their  respective  destina- 
tions. Among  the  numerous  parties  was  a  group 
combining  all  that  was  most  attractive  in  age,  man- 
hood, and  youth.  The  foremost  of  the  party  was  a 
woman  whose  rosy  complexion  and  rustic  dress  be- 
tokened a  recent  introduction  into  the  colony.  She 
carried  an  infant  in  her  arms,  and  had  two  other  young 
children  in  charge,  who  tripped  hand-in-hand  by  her 
side.  On  her  arm  was  leaning  an  aged  man,  whom 
from  time  to  time  she  fondly  regarded,  and  to  whose 
slow  pace  she  carefully  regulated  her  own.  On  the 
other  side,  likewise  supporting  his  grandfather,  walked 
a  youth,  whose  resemblance  to  his  mother  was  re- 
markable, even  in  the  amiable  expression  of  her  coun- 
tenance. They  were  followed  by  the  father  of  the 
family,  a  fine-looking  Englishman ;  but  a  hand  was 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  11 

suddenly  laid  upon  his  arm,  and  on  turning  he  recog- 
nised Mr.  Rolfe,  a  young  man  of  rank  in  the  colony. 

"  How  now,  Master  Rolfe  ?"  said  he,  returning  the 
salutation  of  the  other,  but  continuing  his  walk.  "  I 
thought  you  at  Roanoke." 

"  True,  I  was  there  this  morning,  but  ill  tidings 
travel  fast,  and  I  came  hither  to  inquire  into  those 
which  reached  me  last  night." 

"Ill  tidings?"  said  Henry  Randolph,  in  a  low  and 
alarmed  tone,  "  what  news  is  this  ? — From  the  old 
country?" 

"No,  no,  far  worse,  I  fear,"  replied  Rolfe,  speaking 
in  a  still  lower  tone  ;  "  the  governor  would  have  you 
come  up  to  him  as  soon  as  possible  :  as  soon  as  you 
have  placed  your  family  in  the  boat,  he  would  speak 
a  word  with  you." 

"  I  am  grieved  to  displeasure  his  excellency,  but  it 
may  not  be,"  replied  Henry  Randolph,  gravely,  "  for 
this  is  not  a  day  whereon  to  prosecute  business,  and  I 
must  accompany  my  wife  and  children  home." 

"  But,  Master  Randolph,  half  the  colony  will  be  at 
council  to-day." 

"  The  less  need  then  of  my  presence,  but  I  will  be 
with  his  excellency  to-morrow,  please  God  ;  and  now, 
Master  Rolfe,  excuse  me,  but  I  can  not  depart  with- 
out reminding  you  that  business  transacted  on  the 
Lord's  day  is  not  likely  to  prosper.  My  duty  to  the 
governor  :  he  will  not  miss  me  among  so  many." 

"Nay,  nay,  my  friend,"  said  Rolfe,  "these  are 
mere  scruples  ;  the  safety  of  those  most  dear  to  you 
may  depend  upon  your  reply:  come  with  me." 

A  slight  sigh  escaped  Henry  Randolph,  but  he 
turned  to  his  companion  with  a  firm  countenance,  and 
said,  "  Well,  Master  Rolfe,  it  may  indeed  be  as  you 
say;  but  I  am  very  sure  that  He  whose  sabbaths  we 
honor  will  care  for  us.     Farewell." 


12  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 


CHAPTER  II. 

In  consequence  of  the  frequent  occasion  they  had 
to  come  to  Jamestown,  the  residents  on  the  distant 
settlements  had  built  a  tolerably  commodious  landing- 
place,  to  which  many  little  boats  were  now  attached. 
In  some  of  these  were  seated  negroes,  already  trained 
to  service  by  the  rigorous  rule  of  their  masters  ;  but 
when  the  Randolphs  hailed  their  boat,  they  were  an- 
swered by  the  hearty  tones  of  a  man  who  occupied 
the  place  of  their  farm-servant.  The  children  and 
their  attendant  were  first  seated ;  then  Henry  with 
great  care  handed  in  his  father  and  his  wife ;  Philip 
took  the  helm,  and  Ralph  Giles  plied  a  vigorous  oar, 
and  the  little  boat  made  way  in  the  water. 

The  children  were  gazing  into  the  water,  wonder- 
ing how  deep  it  was,  and  what  made  the  banks  fly 
away  so  fast  from  them.  Philip  sat  intent  upon  the 
direction  in  which  the  boat  was  to  be  steered:  the 
eyes  of  the  old  man  were  closed,  and  his  hands  clasped 
upon  the  top  of  his  staff,  on  which  his  chin  rested  ;  the 
little  Alice  loved  to  look  at  his  long  silver  locks  blown*-** 
about  by  the  breeze,  and  admired,  though  she  knew 
not  why,  the  placid  expression  of  his  countenance. 
The  eyes  of  the  wife  were  fixed  upon  her  husband's 
face  with  interest  and  inquiry.  He  was  looking  back 
toward  Jamestown,  and  she  observed  that  he  appeared 
anxious  and  restless,  as  if  his  mind  were  more  than 
commonly  occupied  with  careful  thoughts..  He  was, 
indeed,  considering  the  words  of  Rolfe,  and  tould  not 
refrain  from  watching  the  various  groups  of  persons 
who  were  to  be  seen  hurrying  in  the  direction  of  the 
governor's  dwelling  :   then  he  glanced  anxiously  at 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  13 

his  children,  and,  connecting  the  sense  of  danger  with 
the  mysterious  communication  he  had  so  lately  re- 
ceived, his  disturbed  imagination  presented  the  most 
serious  grounds  of  apprehension  for  those  most  dear 
to  him,  over  whom  some  unseen  calamity  was  im- 
pending. The  rising  trouble  of  the  father's  heart 
formed  a  sad  contrast  to  their  happy  unconsciousness 
of  its  cause.  He  turned  from  them  again  to  resume 
his  observations  upon  the  scene  they  were  leaving, 
when  a  bend  in  the  river  caused  their  little  boat  to 
take  another  course,  and  Jamestown  was  lost  to  view. 
He  was  roused  from  his  silence  by  his  wife's  voice  : 
she  leaned  forward  and  whispered — 

"  Something  has  troubled  thee,  Henry,  since  the 
morning  ;  thou  hast  learned  unpleasant  tidings." 

"  I  ought  not  to  look  sad,"  replied  her  husband,  en- 
deavoring to  smile  ;  "  the  day  is  gay  enough,  and  we 
have  heard  precious  words  this  morning :  truly,  1 
never  valued  the  worthy  Doctor  Haverdean  more.  Al- 
ice, my  child,  dost  thou  remember  the  text  ?" 

The  little  girl  blushed,  but  rose  reverently  and  an 
swered  :  "  From  the  fortieth  of  Isaiah — 'And  all  flesh 
is  grass.'  " 

"  Remember  it,  my  child,"  said  the  old  man,  open- 
ing his  eyes,  and  laying  his  hand  upon  her  fair  ring- 
lets ;  "  this  world  is  very  beautiful,  but  the  fashion  of 
it  passeth  away^'    - 

Alice  looked  almost  doubtingly  around  upon  the 
bright  sky  and  the  sunshine,  and  even  the  low  flat 
shore  and  dusky  woods  were  pleasant  things  to  her  ; 
she  thought  it  could  not  be. 

"  My  Alice,  what  grandfather  says  is  true ;  it  is 
written  in  the  Scripture,  and  thou  knowest  we  must 
believe  what  is  written  there,"  said  her  father. 

The  man  plied  the  oars,  and  after  a  sail  of  an  hour 
or  two,  the  settlement  of  the  Fair  Meadows  became 
visible  in  the  distance,  and  all  turned  to  look  at  their 
home.  The  scene  was  tame  but  not  unpleasing  :  a 
large  green  meadow  slopedsto  the  river-side,  and  one 
or  two  wooden  dwellings  were  seen  here  and  there 
2 


14  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

peeping  from  out  the  trees,  which  were  already  bud- 
ding ;  low  thick  woods  stretched  far  on  every  side ; 
the  windings  of  the  river  formed  the  only  picturesque 
feature  in  the  landscape,  but  the  children  knew  no 
other,  and  they  thought  their  Virginian  home  the 
sweetest  spot  uptn  earth.  On  a  few  places  upon  its 
banks  were  pleasant  dwellings,  where  but  twenty 
years  before  had  been  an  untracked  woodland.  The 
deer  were  seen  in  large  herds  coming  down  to  drink, 
and  as  the  several  boats  neared  the  shore,  they  would 
start,  and  tossing  up  their  heads  in  alarm,  flee  to  the 
shelter  of  the  woods  beyond.  No  human  being  was 
in  sight,  not  even  an  Indian  ;  and  Philip,  with  acute 
observation,  remarked  this  to  his  father,  who  did  not 
appear  to  hear  him. 

"  Why,  Master  Philip,"  said  Ralph  Giles,  the  serv- 
ing-man, "it  is, to  be  sure,  uncommon  strange;  there's 
no  live  things  on  the  banks  at  all ;  Pse  wonder  where 
them  Indian  folk  ha'  put  themselves.  May  be  they're 
gone  for  good  ;  ay,  and  a  good  riddance,  say  I,  for 
they're  not  like  Christians  seemingly  ;  Pse  sure  I  never 
see  such  down  in  Oak  Hollow." 

"  Because  thou  knowest  they  belong  to  America," 
said  the  youth,  laughing,  "  so  it  is  not  likely  that 
thou  shouldst  have  seen  them  in  the  old  country. 
Who  knows  but  that  they  shall  become  a  civilized 
people  like  ourselves  ?" 

"  Civil  people,  Master  Philip  !  sure  you  be  dream- 
ing ;  they'll  always  be  a  rude,  ill-mannered  set,  or  I'm 
mistaken.  I  don't  think  much  o'  their  feathers  and 
paint,  not  I ;  they  look  sharp,  I'se  warrant,  when  no- 
body's by." 

"  Thou  hadst  better  move  quickly,  Ralph  Giles," 
said  his  master,  "  or  we  shall  arrive  later  than  our 
neighbors." 

Upon  this  seasonable  hint,  Ralph  ceased  his  obser- 
vations on  Indian  character,  and  used  his  oar  so  much 
to  the  purpose,  that  they  were  soon  at  the  landing- 
place  of  the  Fair  Meadows.  The  settlers  had  wisely- 
chosen  the  highest  position  they  could  find  upon  the 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  15 

bank,  and  had  raised  their  simple  dwellings  under 
shelter  of  the  wooded  rising  ground,  so  as  to  be  far 
from  the  damp  of  the  river,  which  would  have  proved 
particularly  noxious  in  such  a  climate.  A  well-beaten 
path  had  been  made  from  the  river  to  their  habitations, 
and  the  Randolphs  were  very  glad  to  tread  it  once 
more.  A  clearing  had  been  made  above,  and  a  num- 
ber of  dwellings  were  built  on  an  open  space  in  the 
centre.  They  were  of  simple  construction,  but  sub- 
stantial, and  the  soil,  susceptible  of  the  slighest  culti- 
vation, yielded  sufficient  crops  to  the  settlers.  Alto- 
gether, the  settlement  of  the  Fair  Meadows  wore  a 
very  comfortable  and  neighborly  aspect. 

As  Philip  Randolph  opened  the  gate  of  their  little 
garden  for  his  mother,  he  looked  around  him  with 
an  air  of  happy  satisfaction,  and  said,  "  Oh,  moth- 
er, is  it  not  pleasant  to  be  at  home  again  ?  I  don't 
think  any  place  looks  better  than  the  Fair  Meadows." 

Margaret  Randolph  smiled  sweetly  upon  her  son, 
and  assented  cheerfully  to  his  remark,  though  she 
had  known  the  comforts  of  a  far  more  luxurious  dwel- 
ling. 

Sunday  with  the  Randolphs  was  indeed  a  happy 
day ;  not  that  they  spent  it  idly  or  in  amusements,  but 
they  spent  it  so  well,  that  it  was  felt  to  be  the  most 
pleasant  of  all  days  in  the  week.  It  was  a  day  of  rest 
from  the  business  and  conversation  of  other  days,  and 
was  so  well  occupied,  that  it  did  not  pass  gloomily  ; 
and  though  books  were  not  plentiful,  the  children 
were  carefully  instructed  to  value  those  they  pos- 
sessed. The  family  Bible,  with  its  large  silver  clasps, 
the  book  of  Common  Prayer,  with  Sternhold's  Psalms, 
were  the  best  known  in  the  house,  and  these,  with  a 
few  others,  formed  all  their  Sunday  library.  Henry 
Randolph,  having  received  a  good  education  in  his 
youth,  was  anxious  to  impart  the  love  of  study  to  his 
son,  though  he  had  but  little  leisure  to  teach  him. 
Philip,  however,  took  such  pains,  and  was  so  desirous 
to  learn,  and  thought  it  so  kind  in  his  father  to  attend 
to  his  lessons  when  he  came  home  tired  with  his  daily 


16  PHIXIP    RANDOLPH. 

labors,  that  he  made  progress,  and  though  scarcely 
sixteen,  could  read  a  few  chapters  in  the  Greek  Tes- 
tament, with  a  good  understanding  of  the  text.  His 
duty  on  the  Sunday  afternoon  was  to  instruct  his  sis- 
ter Alice,  and  to  study  the  Scriptures.  The  father 
and  mother  taught  and  amused  the  younger  children, 
and  at  five  o'clock  the  neighbors  of  the  settlement  as- 
sembled at  one  another's  houses  in  turn,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  reading  the  evening  service.  A  homily  was 
read,  and  a  psalm  sung,  the  young  people  and  ser- 
vants catechised,  and  then  the  different  families  re- 
turned to  their  homes,  and  took  their  early  and  sub- 
stantial suppers. 

The  supper  was  ample,  and  of  such  as  the  farm  sup- 
plied :  a  good  ham,  poultry,  with  dried  venison,  and 
the  potato,  best  liked  as  the  greatest  novelty,  already 
regarded  as  one  of  the  many  good  things  found  in  the 
New  World.  After  the  little  ones  and  their  grand- 
father had  retired,  Henry  and  Margaret  Randolph 
drew  near  the  fire,  and  Philip  took  his  station  be- 
tween them.  His  father  dismissed  him  earlier  than 
usual,  saying  that  they  must  all  be  up  in  good  time  in 
the  morning,  as  he  must  go  to  Jamestown  as  soon  as 
the  day  broke.  The  boy  rose  without  a  word  of  re- 
monstrance or  entreaty  to  stay  longer ;  he  kissed  his 
mother,  received  his  father's  blessing,  and  ascended 
the  ladder  that  communicated  with  his  sleeping- 
room. 

His  shutter  was  not  closed,  and  the  cool  air  came 
in  with  the  moonlight,  which  illumined  every  object. 
The  river  was  calm  and  glistening,  though  the  woods 
of  the  opposite  shore  flung  their  broad  shadows  over 
the  waters,  making  the  soft  reflection  of  the  moon 
more  distinct  and  silvery,  while  those  around  the  Fair 
Meadows  were  tipped  with  light,  which  floated,  as  it 
were,  over  the  masses  of  impenetrable  shade  beneath. 
Philip  at  all  times  loved  to  gaze  upon  nature,  and 
could  scarcely  tear  himself  from  the  delightful  scene  ; 
everything  seemed  so  peaceful  and  reposing,  that  he 
thought  he   could  never  feel  unhappy,  or  dull,  or 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  17 

vexed  again,  his  feelings  were  so  soothed  and  subdued 
by  the  tranquillity  without;  and  his  heart  rose  in 
spontaneous  adoration  to  his  Maker. 

He  was  turning  away,  at  length,  to  throw  himself 
upon  his  knees,  when  his  attention  was  suddenly  ar- 
rested by  a  new  object  upon  the  scene.  He  saw  a 
canoe  emerge  from  the  obscurity  of  the  opposite 
shore,  and  enter  the  broad  reflection  of  the  moon  in 
the  water.  The  figures  of  two  men,  whom  he  con- 
jectured to  be  natives,  were  discernible,  and  they  ap- 
peared to  be  industriously  using  the  paddle  ;  for  their 
little  boat  darted  with  great  rapidity  across  the  river, 
in  the  direction  of  the  Fair  Meadows,  and  was  soon 
lost  to  sight  in  the  shelter  of  its  wooded  banks.  Philip 
still  kept  watch,  and  shortly  after  saw  the  same  fig- 
ures standing  upon  the  top  of  the  green  hill  which 
overlooked  the  settlement,  and  screened  it  on  the  west 
side  from  the  stream.  It  was  so  common  a  circum- 
stance for  the  Indians  to  roam  hither  and  thither  when 
they  pleased,  that  it  occasioned  little  surprise  to  Philip, 
though  he  felt  a  slight  curiosity  to  know  what  they 
could  be  doing  at  so  late  an  hour,  in  the  vicinity  of 
the  Meadows. 


CHAPTER  III. 

On  the  following  morning,  soon  after  breakfast, 
Henry  Randolph  was  again  seated  in  his  boat ;  but 
before  starting,  he  whispered  to  Ralph  Giles  to  be 
watchful,  and  not  leave  the  premises  during  his  ab- 
sence. The  faithful  servant  seemed  surprised,  but 
answered  with  emotion,  "  Sure,  master,  I'se  care  for 
every  one  o'  them." 

Upon  reaching  Jamestown,  Henry  found  the  little 
place  in  much  commotion,  and  the  inhabitants  ma- 


18  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

king  their  way  to  the  government  house.  The  green 
court  was  filled  with  people  hurrying  to  and  fro,  and 
among  them  were  seen  a  few  stately  Indians  moving 
slowly  and  loftily  in  the  crowd,  as  if  they  disdained  its 
eager  and  bustling  activity.  Randolph  made  his  way, 
and  requested  an  audience  with  the  governor.  He 
was  instantly  conducted  to  the  large  hall  where  the 
councils  were  held,  and  in  which  the  newly-formed 
house  of  representatives  met.  It  was  spacious  and 
lofty,  lighted  by  several  long  diamond-paned  win- 
dows. A  large  fire  was  burning  on  the  ample  hearth  ; 
large  high-backed  chairs,  richly  carved,  were  ranged 
round  the  room  ;  and  a  large  table  stood  at  the  upper 
end  of  the  apartment,  covered  with  a  crimson  cloth. 
Above  the  head  of  this  table  was  placed  a  canopied 
chair,  on  which  the  arms  of  England  were  embroid- 
ered ;  and  here  usually  sat  the  governor,  when  busi- 
ness was  to  be  transacted,  or  audience  granted.  Por- 
traits of  James  I.  and  of  his  queen  adorned  the  walls, 
and  full-length  pictures  of  the  princes  Henry  and 
Charles  hung  on  each  side  of  the  fireplace. 

Sir  George  Yeardley  was  standing  in  one  of  the 
deep  window-recesses,  in  earnest  conversation  with 
a  gentleman  of  the  colony,  in  military  attire.  His  re- 
ception of  the  new  comer  was  cordial,  and  he  said, 
turning  to  his  companion  with  a  smile,  "  Here  comes 
our  delinquent!  Captain  Preston  must  chide  you, 
Master  Randolph,  for  not  joining  our  council  yester- 
day. Nay,  I  have  your  excuse  already,  and  it  is  a 
much  better  one  than  we  have  to  offer  for  ourselves  ; 
for  we  did  naught  but  quarrel,  and  that  to  no  purpose. 
But  we  have  other  matters  to  speak  of  just  now,  and 
will  draw  toward  the  fire.  You  have  had  a  chilling 
sail  and  a  long  one."  And  he  rang  a  Jittle  silver  bell 
that  lay  upon  the  table. 

"  A  cup  of  warm  canary  for  our  guest,"  said  the 
governor  to  a  servant  who  entered  ;  "  and  tell  those 
fellows  to  be  sharp  with  the  victuals  for  the  Indians." 

The  servant  soon  returned  with  a  silver  tray,  bear- 
ing a  massive  silver  tankard,  which  was  proffered  to 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  19 

Henry  Randolph,  who  merely  tasted  /he  beverage,  and 
sat  it  down  again. 

"  You  pay  a  poor  compliment  to  our  wine,"  said 
the  good-natured  governor.  "  Come,  pray  refresh 
yourself,  Master  Randolph,  after  your  long  sail,  and 
tell  me  if  English  comforts  are  quite  banished  from 
this  barbarous  clime." 

"Nay,  nay,  Sir  George,  say  not  so;  the  climate 
is  good  enough  for  men  who  must  earn  their  bread  ; 
and  when  the  mind  is  made  to  bear,  one  place  is  as 
good  as  another,"  said  Captain  Preston,  who  took  up 
the  rejected  tankard,  and  swallowed  the  contents  at  a 
draught. 

"  I  have  more  appetite  for  news  than  for  canary," 
replied  Henry  Randolph  to  the  repeated  invitation  of 
the  governor.  "  Your  excellency  is  hospitable,  but 
must  excuse  me." 

"  Well,  well,  as  you  will  ;  and  now  to  business." 

Sir  George  then  proceeded  to  inform  him  of  certain 
reports  which  had  reached  them  from  all  quarters,  of 
the  hostile  dispositions  of  the  chief  Opecanoff,  who 
was  considered  to  be  the  king  or  head  of  all  the  tribes 
from  the  southern  border  of  Virginia  to  the  river  Del- 
aware— a  wide  tract  of  country,  and,  under  the  power 
of  one  chief,  might  constitute  a  formidable  neighbor- 
hood to  the  English.  The  late  king,  Powhatan,  had 
heen  very  friendly  toward  them,  and  lived  in  amity 
with  the  intruders — pale-faces,  as  they  were  called  by 
his  successor — but  the  policy  of  the  new  chief  bad 
differed  from  the  first,  from  the  peaceful  character  so 
long  maintained  ;  he  had  attacked  the  tribes  supposed 
to  be  most  intimately  bound  to  the  English,  and  never 
appeared  at  Jamestown  to  share  the  bounties  of  the 
governor,  or  partake  of  his  hospitality.  The  late  re- 
ports had  much  alarmed  them,  and  Sir  George  Yeard- 
ley  had  convened  a  council  as  soon  as  he  heard  of 
them,  but  was  really  perplexed  by  the  matter.  They 
had  so  long  enjoyed  peace,  that  none  appeared  pre- 
pared or  willing  to  court  hostility,  by  making  public 
their  suspicions.     A  few  tribes,  to  the  south  of  James 


20  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

river,  had  come  to  ask  protection  from  the  grasping 
ambition  of  the  new  sachem,  and  their  dread  of  his 
power  infused  an  infectious  fear  into  the  minds  of  the 
colonists,  which  they  had  long  been  strangers  to. 

On  the  Sunday  morning,  the  council  had  been  di- 
vided, and  no  conclusion  was  arrived  at ;  butr  on  the 
morning  which  we  are  speaking  of,  at  a  very  early 
hour  for  such  meetings,  the  whole  congress  were  as- 
sembled, and  soon  engaged  in  close  confabulation,  at 
the  long  table  before  mentioned.  In  the  midst  of  the 
conference,  a  servant  entered  to  announce  the  arrival 
of  six  Indian  messengers,  who  brought  presents  with 
them  from  the  Indian  king  to  the  governor.  The 
countenance  of  Sir  George  brightened  at  this  intelli- 
gence, and  he  looked  cheerfully  upon  his  friends,  say- 
ing, in  an  animated  tone,  "  Admit  them  instantly,  and 
let  us  assume  all  our  dignity,  gentlemen,  for  these 
savages  have  it  to  perfection,  and  will  look  sharply  at 
us,  depend  on't." 

The  party  of  Indians  were  shortly  announced,  and 
the  representatives  were  sitting  with  an  air  of  dignified 
composure  at  the  table.  The  embassy  was  received 
•with  suitable  condescension  by  the  governor,  whose 
handsome  attire  and  brave  countenance  seemed  to  im- 
press the  savages  with  a  momentary  awe.  They  were 
headed  by  a  man  of  majestic  deportment,  whose  fea- 
tures were  calm  to  rigidity,  and  whose  dark  eyes  alone 
expressed  the  character  of  his  soul.  His  piercing 
glance  flitted  from  object  to  object  with  the  rapidity 
of  lightning,  and  then  subsided  into  a  cold  and  indif- 
ferent stare,  as  he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  governor, 
standing  in  silence,  with  his  arms  folded  and  his  head 
erect.  Their  interpreter,  who  had  been  in  the  service 
of  a  former  governor,  gave  the  message  of  the  Indian 
king,  and  described  the  presents  in  exaggerated  terms, 
though  they  had  been  left  in  the  courtyard.  Sir 
George  returned  an  appropriate  reply,  and  requested 
them  to  take  some  refreshment  with  their  countrymen 
without,  but  fhe  offer  was  declined.  Mr.  Rolfe,  who 
sat  next  the  governor,  and  had  attentively  observed 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  21 

the  scene,  now  whispered,  "  Do  not  trust  them  ;  they 
refuse  to  eat  with  us  :  they  are  spies,  I  am  convinced. 
Let  them  not  depart  without  examination." 

"  Nay,  you  had  better  seek  into  this  matter  your- 
self, Master  Rolfe,  for  you  are  a  scholar  in  their  lan- 
guage, and  I  care  not  to  question  such  subtle  knaves ;" 
and  Sir  George  leaned  back  in  his  chair  of  state,  care- 
lessly playing  with  the  hilt  of  his  sword,  but  keenly 
watching  the  group  from  beneath  his  dark  and  bushy 
eyebrows.  Rolfe,  thus  sanctioned,  without  preface 
spoke  in  their  figurative  language,  and  interpreted 
their  replies : — 

"  Will  not  my  brothers  taste  our  bread  and  water  ? 
They  must  not  return  to  their  village  hungry  and 
thirsty.  The  Dahwyotts  are  at  the  feast :  will  not  my 
brothers  join  them  ?" 

The  tall  Indian  raised  his  eyes  to  the  speaker's  face, 
and  paused  ere  he  replied  in  a  low  guttural  tone,  "  We 
do  not  eat  corn  with  the  Dahwyotts" — accompanying 
his  remark  with  a  contemptuous  expression  of  coun- 
tenance and  gesture. 

Rolfe  changed  his  mode  of  address,  and  said,  haugh- 
tily, "  The  great  king  of  the  Yengees  does  not  offer 
his  food  twice  to  the  stranger  :  go  back  to  your  chief, 
and  tell  him  to  send  those  who  will  eat  with  us.  Has 
Opecanoff  burnt  the  wampum  ?" 

A  glance  of  intelligence  was  exchanged  between 
the  savage  and  his  party  at  this  name  ;  and  then  the 
first  speaker  replied,  as  calmly  as  before :  "  Who 
knows  where  the  dwelling  of  the  eagle  is  ?  Go  ask 
for  Opecanoff,  and  the  forest  will  be  silent ;  the  white 
man  may  never  see  his  track  !" 

"  The  great  king  of  the  Yengees  was  the  friend  of 
Powhatan,  and  called  him  brother.  He  will  call 
Opecanoff  his  son,  if  he  is  wise  toward  his  great  white 
father ;  but  let  not  your  chief  deceive  us.  We  are 
watchful." 

"  The  great  king  knows  well  that  we  have  buried 
the  hatchet,"  replied  the  Indian  ;  "  the  serpent  of  his 
tribe  is  wise  ;  he  will  not  use  them  more." 


22  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

"  But  the  serpent  has  not  kept  his  secret  :  he  is  ly- 
ing in  the  grass  now,  but  he  will  rise  to  destroy.  Go 
tell  your  chief  that  we  will  crush  him  if  he  dare  to 
cross  the  boundary  !" 

The  Indian  made  no  reply,  and  his  calm  demeanor 
appeared  in  direct  contrast  to  the  inflamed  and  excited 
countenance  of  Rolfe.  His  face  betrayed  no  angry 
feeling,  and  he  turned  loftily  away  without  acknowl- 
edging the  salutations  of  the  council.  No  one  thought 
of  following  them,  and  they  quitted  the  hall  and  court- 
yard witliout  molestation  ;  not  deigning  to  notice  their 
countrymen,  who  were  feasting  upon  the  green,  appa- 
rently enjoying  the  governor's  good  cheer. 

After  the  departure  of  the  deputies,  much  debate 
ensued  in  council,  and  none  seemed  disposed  to  take 
the  lead  or  give  an  opinion  except  Preston,  who  urged 
caution,  and  reproached  Rolfe  in  no  measured  terms 
for  his  imprudent  expressions,  which  would,  without 
fail,  stir  up  strife.  The  governor  entreated  their  ad- 
vice, and  invited  them  all  to  meet  him  in  the  morning 
of  the  following  day  ;  deciding  for  the  present  to  put 
the  garrison  in  better  defence,  and  to  send  messages  to 
the  neighboring  settlements,  to  summon  them  on  the 
very  first  intimation  of  danger  to  come  up  to  James- 
town for  shelter. 

Henry  Randolph  returned  to  his  boat  with  a  quick 
step  but  heavy  heart,  and  sailed  homeward  ill  at  ease, 
though  on  the  whole  considerably  relieved  of  the  bur- 
den which  had  weighed  on  his  mind  in  the  morning. 
He  did  not  apprehend  any  danger  to  his  own  family 
from  Indian  hostility,  for  he  had  ever  shown  the  great- 
est kindness  and  hospitality  toward  those  natives 
whose  wanderings  had  brought  them  hungry  or  weary 
to  his  dwelling,  and  he  did  not  fear  their  enmity,  as 
he  knew  them  to  be  particularly  grateful  for  favors  of 
this  kind.  His  wife's  skill  as  a  doctress  had  gained 
her  some  repute  among  the  wounded  or  sick  of  the 
tribes  who  lived  near  them ;  and  perhaps  there  was 
no  English  family  throughout  the  whole  of  the  colony 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  23 

so  truly  respected  or  so  popular  with  the  natives  as 
the  Randolphs. 

While  Henry  was  considering  these  advantages, 
and  deriving  comfort  from  them,  although  he  could 
not  but  feel  apprehension  for  others,  he  was  not  aware 
of  the  vicinity  of  a  little  bark  which  was  following  in 
the  wake  of  his  own  boat,  and  the  occupant,  a  solitary 
Indian,  was  making  great  efforts  to  overtake  him,  by 
paddling  with  both  arms  ;  and  as  the  canoe  was  much 
the  smaller  and  lighter  of  the  two  boats,  he  at  length 
gained  his  purpose,  and,  shooting  ahead  of  Henry 
Randolph's,  intimated  his  wish  to  converse,  by  resting 
upon  his  paddles,  and  turning  his  head  round  so  as  to 
address  himself  more  readily  to  his  companion.  Hen- 
ry accosted  him  in  a  friendly  manner,  and  laid  by  his 
oar  for  a  while,  so  that  both  boats  came  to  a  stand  in 
the  stream,  and  the  Indian  rapidly  communicated  his 
errand,  informing  his  astonished  auditor  that  he  was 
one  whom  he  had  befriended  in  times  past,  and  that 
he  now  came  to  tell  him  of  a  plot  that  had  been 
formed  to  fall  upon  the  English  and  destroy  them. 
No  sooner  had.  the  savage  delivered  his  conscience  of 
this  burdensome  secret,  than  he  darted  away,  and  in 
vain  did  Henry  attempt  to  pursue  him.  He  paddled 
to  such  purpose,  that  he  soon  attained  the  shelter  of 
the  bank,  and,  entering  one  of  the  numerous  little 
bays  thrown  out  by  the  woodland  from  the  shore,  was 
effectually  hidden  from  his  pursuer. 

Henry  promptly  decided  to  return  to  Jamestown, 
but  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  better  plan  would  be 
to  come  in  the  morning,  for  the  day  was  still  short, 
and  the  darkness  always  came  on  suddenly  :  he  should 
not  have  time  to  communicate  his  intelligence  to  the 
governor  so  as  to  reach  home  by  daylight.  It  was 
better,  therefore,  to  defer  it  till  the  morrow  ;  and  he 
rapidly  pursued  his  course,  considering,  as  he  went, 
this  strange  incident,  in  which  so  much  of  mystery 
and  of  danger  mingled. 

Philip  was  absent  when  his  father  reached  the  Fair 
Meadows,  and  it  was  almost  dark  when  he  made  his 


24  PHrLIP    RANDOLPH. 

appearance.  The  moon,  which  on  the  preceding 
nighl  had  shone  so  brightly,  was  clouded  ;  masses  of 
darkness  seemed  gathering  over  the  sky,  and  the  rain 
began  to  descend  in  torrents.  Henry  went  forth  to 
look  for  his  son,  and  was  much  surprised  to  meet  him 
just  emerging  from  the  wood  which  skirted  the  for- 
est, accompanied  by  an  Indian.  The  mystery  was 
soon  explained.  Philip  had  gone  in  quest  of  some 
stray  pigs,  and,  returning  with  them  through  the  wood, 
had  encountered  the  Indian,  who  was  lying  upon  the 
ground  at  the  foot  of  a  tree,  much  exhausted,  with  a 
broken  arrow  sticking  in  his  leg,  and  apparently  suf- 
fering great  pain.  Philip  had  assisted  him  to  extract 
the  weapon,  and  persuaded  him  to  accompany  him 
home  to  his  mother,  who,  he  felt  sure,  would  soon 
cure  the  wound. 

"  Heaven  be  praised,  thou  art  safe,  my  son  !"  cried 
his  father,  who,  for  the  moment,  could  not  help  sus- 
pecting that  the  stranger  was  a  spy  ;  yet,  upon  after- 
thought, it  seemed  improbable  that  he  could  be  such, 
as  he  would  surely  be  better  skilled  in  the  arts  of  de- 
ception than  to  turn  his  weapons  against  himself. 
Whatever  were  the  character  and  intentions  of  the 
savage,  humanity  required  that  he  should  be  well 
treated,  and  his  wants  attended  to.  Margaret  Ran- 
dolph received  him  kindly,  and  was  soon  ready  with 
water,-  salve,  and  linen,  to  dress  the  wound,  while 
Bridget  prepared  him  some  food,  which  he  eagerly 
demanded.  The  Indian  was  exercising  the  stoical 
principle  of  his  race,  and  betrayed  by  no  expression 
of  words  or  actions  the  exhaustion  and  pain  he  felt : 
his  countenance  and  demeanor  rather  indicated  the 
condescension  of  some  haughty  potentate  who  hum- 
bled himself  to  receive  kindness  at  the  hands  of  his 
slaves.  In  the  midst  of  his  native  forests,  he  would 
not  have  appeared  out  of  keeping  ;  but  in  the  large 
room  of  the  Randolphs'  dwelling,  with  its  accompani- 
ments of  civilization,  surrounded  by  a  hospitable  fam- 
ily intent  upon  the  charities  of  life,  and  in  performance 
of  the  first  of  moral  duties,  he  looked  indeed  a  savage. 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  25 

And  as  Margaret  proceeded  with  accustomed  gentle- 
ness to  cleanse  and  dress  the  wound,  his  countenance 
lost  much  of  its  rigidity,  and  exhaustion  elicited  what 
native  pride  would  have  scorned  to  yield — a  growing 
wonder  at  all  he  saw  and  heard  ;  and  by  the  time  the 
kind  office  was  fully  performed,  he  was  so  faint,  as  to 
grasp  Philip's  arm  and  support  himself  to  a  seat. 
Without  ceremony,  he  threw  himself  upon  a  long 
wooden  settle  by  the  fire,  and  for  a  time  seemed  inca- 
pable of  motion ;  but  this  apathy  gave  way  when 
Bridget  appeared  with  a  well-broiled  fowl  upon  a 
trencher,  and  some  smoking  potatoes,  which  he  ea- 
gerly seized,  starting  up  from  his  hard  couch,  and 
carelessly  throwing  down  the  bones  as  he  picked 
them  upon  the  well-scoured  floor.  All  this  was  done 
with  a  lightning  rapidity,  and  the  bystanders  marvelled 
at  such  sudden  alacrity,  and,  above  all,  at  his  powers 
of  swallowing  large  mouthfuls  of  the  hot  potatoes, 
which  would  have  given  them  burnt  palates  for  a 
week  had  they  been  so  adventurous.  Bridget,  too, 
was  especially  shocked  at  his  disregard  of  her  clean 
Jioor,  and  heartily  wished  him  away ;  but  having 
scrambled  through  his  meal,  he  had  the  audacity  to 
ask  for  more,  in  very  good  English,  which  she  could 
not  mistake,  and  she  held  up  her  hands  in  amazement. 

"Bring  him  more,  good  Bridget,"  said  her  master ; 
"  these  people  have  large  appetites,  and  he  has  fasted 
for  days,  I  doubt  not." 

Thus  ordered,  Bridget  tripped  away,  and  could  not 
forbear  saying  to  her  mistress  as  she  returned  with  a 
further  supply,  "  Why,  he  will  eat  us  out  of  larder  at 
that  rate  !" 

When  the  hunger  of  the  famished  Indian  was  ap- 
peased, he  again  threw  himself  upon  the  settle,  and 
closed  his  eyes,  as  if  intending  to  sleep.  Margaret 
retired  with  her  children  to  the  kitchen,  and  Henry 
followed  her,  saying  to  his  son,  "  Thou  mayest  keep 
company  with  thy  guest,  Philip,  and  we  will  take  up 
with  Bridget  this  evening.  Detain  him  till  morning, 
if  he  seem  willing,  and  let  the  barn  be  his  quarters  to- 
3 


26  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

night :  this  is  an  adventure  to  thy  taste,  so  I  leave  him 
to  thee." 

It  was,  indeed,  an  adventure  quite  to  Philip's  taste, 
to  have  brought  home  a  wounded  and  starving  native 
to  enjoy  the  comforts  of  an  English  hearth — to  show 
kindness  to  one  of  the  dreaded  but  frequently  despised 
sons  of  the  soil.  He  could  not  forbear  indulging  in  a 
few  suppositions  about  this  stranger,  and  anticipated 
most  happy  consequences  from  the  meeting.  He 
thought  there  was  something  mysterious  and  almost 
sublime  in  his  manner  from  the  first  moment  of  their 
meeting  till  that  of  his  exhaustion  during  the  process 
of  his  mother's  doctoring,  when  the  Indian  had  looked 
so  much  less  of  a  savage  than  a  human  being — as  ca- 
pable of  feeling  as  others  of  his  species ;  but  there 
was  a  sort  of  romance  in  the  whole  affair  that  pleased 
Philip  more  than  anything  else,  and  he  longed  to 
know  the  history  and  circumstances  of  his  guest, 
whom  from  time  to  time  he  regarded  with  a  curious 
eye. 

The  Indian  was  restless,  and  had  turned  from  the 
fire,  displaying  more  fully  the  contour  of  his  swarthy- 
figure,  the  outline  of  which  his  scanty  robe  of  richly- 
dressed  skins  did  not  conceal.  His  limbs  were  strong 
and  sinewy,  his  chest  broad,  and  shoulders  muscular ; 
his  head  was  bald,  with  the  exception  of  one  little 
tuft  of  hair,  which  seemed  to  have  been  carefully 
trained  to  stand  upright  on  the  top  of  his  narrow  but 
lofty  forehead  ;  his  features  were  remarkably  hand- 
some, though  with  closed  eyes  his  countenance  want- 
ed expression  to  be  agreeable  or  interesting.  Upon 
his  bare  and  ample  chest  was  delineated,  by  a  process 
peculiar  to  his  race,  a  flying  eagle,  the  symbol  of  the 
tribe  to  which  he  belonged,  and  the  same  device  also 
adorned  his  arms  and  hands.  The  tops  of  his  mocca- 
sins were  marked  in  porcupines'  quills,  and  he  wore  a 
belt  of  the  same  round  his  hunting-shirt  of  the  bright 
colors  dyed  by  native  art,  at  this  day  wrought  among 
the  Indians,  and  probably  only  known  to  them  :  to 
this  belt  was  attached  a  large  pouch  of  otter-skin, 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  27 

out  of  which  protruded  the  head  of  a  hatchet  J  and,  as 
if  by  accident,  a  coronet  of  eagles'  feathers  hung  care- 
lessly from  the  girdle,  betokening  the  high  rank  of  the 
wearer. 

The  more  attentively  Philip  examined  the  figure 
and  dress  of  this  Indian,  the  less  he  felt  attracted  to 
him  ;  and  his  first  impressions  gave  place  to  a  thrill 
of  awe  almost  amounting  to  terror  when  the  savage 
opened  his  eyes  and  fixed  them  steadily  upon  him. 
The  gaze  was  so  coldly  searching,  and  yet  so  fierce, 
that  the  youth  started  to  his  feet  and  hastily  quitted 
the  apartment,  but  soon  returned  with  a  trencher  of 
provisions  for  his  supper  ;  and  chiding  himself  for  his 
foolish  fears,  he  sat  down  again,  resolving  to  confront 
the  stranger  with  an  aspect  as  bold  as  his  own.  He 
scanned  him  once  more,  and  again  felt  a  thrill  of  ap- 
prehension at  his  gaunt  and  ferocious  appearance. 
How  dreadful,  he  thought,  to  lead  such  a  life  as  this 
man's — never  to  know  the  blessings  of  civilization  or 
religion — the  delights  of  a  peaceful  life  !  For  some 
time  he  indulged  in  reflection,  and  was  concluding 
with  a  rather  proud  self-congratulation  that  he  was 
not  born  an  Indian,  when  his  companion  abruptly 
arose,  and,  totally  disregarding  the  state  of  his  wound- 
ed limb,  took  a  hasty  stride  across  the  room  and  ap- 
proached the  elock,  which  he  examined  and  listened 
to  with  an  expression  of  great  surprise  depicted  upon 
his  face.  "  Hugh  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  ugh  !  ugh !"  and 
then  strode  back  to  Philip's  side.  He  addressed  him 
in  the  rapid  and  musical  language  of  the  Indians  of 
the  west,  and  on  finding  that  his  words  were  not  un- 
derstood, returned  to  the  settle  and  again  reclined. 
Once  more  Philip  presented  the  trencher,  but  that 
was  declined  ;  he  then  opened  the  clock-case,  and  en- 
deavored to  explain  its  use,  but  this  politeness  was 
thrown  away  upon  his  guest,  who  deigned  no  reply, 
but  sat  with  folded  arms,  evidently  musing  deeply. 
Philip  resumed  his  chair  by  the  fireplace,  and  was 
silent.  Some  time  passed  in  this  manner,  and  the  boy 
thought  it  dull,  and  was  beginning  to  regret  his  charge, 


28  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

when  the  Indian  suddenly  approached  him.  As  he 
moved,  his  tall  figure  seemed  to  dilate  and  acquire 
grandeur  and  majesty  of  proportions  and  carriage. 
With  a  graceful  gesture  he  pointed  to  the  doorway, 
and  said  slowly,  but  in  tolerable  English,  "  The  red 
man  makes  night  in  the  wigwam  of  the  pale  face  :  he 
will  go  and  sleep  under  the  dark  trees." 

"No,  no,"  said  Philip,  eagerly;  "stay!  you  shall 
have  food  and  shelter  ;  you  shall  sleep  in  our  dwelling 
to-night." 

The  dark  eye  of  the  savage  kindled  as  he  gazed  on 
the  boy,  whose  manly  demeanor  he  had  doubtless  re- 
marked and  admired  :  he  hesitated,  and  Philip  placed 
himself  between  him  and  the  door,  ready  to  open  it  if 
he  persisted. 

"  The  red  man  is  alone  ;  will  the  pale  face  give  him 
a  mat  in  his  wigwam  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Philip ;  "  come,  I  will  take  you 
to  your  quarters." 

The  Indian  looked  keenly  at  him.  "  The  pale 
faces  lie  :  what  are  their  children  ?"  And  he  laid 
his  powerful  hand  on  Philip's  arm.  The  boy's  face 
flushed,  and  he  shook  off  the  hand  that  grasped  him 
so  tightly. 

"  My  father  is  no  liar  ;  if  he  wished  to  hurt  you,  he 
wrould  not  have  brought  you  into  his  dwelling." 

The  Indian  slowly  withdrew  his  eyes  from  Phiilp's 
open  countenance,  and  glanced  at  his  wounded  limb. 
After  a  pause,  he  said,  "  The  pale  face  will  laugh  at 
the  red  man ;  they  will  call  him  dog  !  they  will  say 
he  makes  the  wigwam  very  dark.  He  will  stay,  but 
he  will  not  sleep  with  the  pale  face  ;"  and  again  he 
pointed  to  the  door,  which  Philip  immediately  opened 
and  led  him  to  the  barn,  where,  after  shaking  down 
some  hay,  he  made  his  guest  understand  that  these 
were  his  quarters  for  the  night,  and  then  re-entered 
the  dwelling. 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  29 


CHAPTER  IV. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  family  assembled 
early,  and  after  exchanging  theirs  accustomed  affec- 
tionate greetings,  took  their  places  round  the  room, 
and  prepared  for  their  usual  religious  service.  :  While 
the  old  man  opened  the  Bible,  and  his  mother  selected 
a  psalm,  Philp  stole  out  and  quickly  returned  with  the 
Indian,  who,  whatever  surprise  the  novel  scene  might 
occasion  in  his  mind,  did  not  betray  any  ;  and  without 
regarding  the  salutations  offered  him,  he  took  up  his 
post  in  a  corner,  leaning  against  the  wooden  wall  in 
an  attitude  of  indifference,  his  eyes  downcast,  and  his 
whole  figure  motionless. 

The  attention  of  the  little  Alice  was  much  dis- 
turbed, and  even  her  graver  brother  could  scarcely  re- 
press the  frequent  inclination  to  look  at  their  guest, 
and  he  was  soon  aware  that  from  the  moment  the 
reading  began,  and  when  he  supposed  none  of  the 
family  were  regarding  him,  the  Indian  had  never 
ceased  to  remark  with  rapid  glances  the  furniture  of 
the  apartment  and  every  human  being  within  it.  The 
old  man's  voice  was  next  heard  in  the  beautiful  lan- 
guage of  the  morning  service,  and  could  those  who 
were  then  kneeling  so  devoutly  have  been  conscious 
of  the  actions  of  another,  they  would  have  seen  the 
look  of  wonder  and  of  irrepressible  awe  which  over- 
spread the  countenance  of  their  guest.  After  the 
prayers  were  ended,  they  all  rose  and  sang  a  morning 
hymn.  Margaret  Randolph  had  a  sweet  voice,  and 
her  husband  and  children  followed  her  in  a  pleasing 
strain.  Ralph  Giles  and  Bridget  did  not  hesitate  to 
join  in  the  harmonv. 

3* 


30  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

The  breast  of  the  Indian  heaved,  as  it  appeared, 
with  a  new  emotion,  which  he  was  unable  to  control  : 
his  rigidly-folded  arms  fell  to  his  sides,  and  he  ad- 
vanced some  steps  ;  then,  ashamed  of  his  want  of  self- 
control,  retreated.  It  was  impossible  for  him  to  re- 
main unaffected  by  the  melody,  and  as  this  was  prob- 
ably the  first  time  his  ears  had  ever  been  greeted  with 
any  so  sweet,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  his  fierce 
restless  glance  should  subside,  his  dark  eyes  gleam 
with  a  softened  expression,  and  his  stern  mouth  relax  ; 
indeed,  his  whole  countenance  lost  its  habitual  rigidi- 
ty. When  the  service  was  concluded,  Henry  Ran- 
dolph endeavored  to  explain  to  him  the  nature  of  it ; 
and  the  Indian  listened  with  attention,  afterward  re- 
plying with  grave  dignity,  and  in  his  imperfect  Eng- 
lish idiom,  "  The  white  man  has  his  Great  Father, 
and  the  red  man  tells  the  Great  Spirit  what  he  wants. 
The  pale  faces  are  birds — they  sing  more  sweetly  than 
the  night-bird  ;  the  sons  of  the  eagle  will  not  harm 
them." 

"  No,  your  young  men  must  not  harm  us,"  said 
Henry,  mildly ;  "  we  will  always  care  for  them,  and 
treat  them  well." 

"  Good,  good,"  replied  the  Indian,  turning  an  ad- 
miring gaze  at  Philip,  who  was  approaching  with  the 
breakfast  of  their  guest.  The  food  was  scarcely 
touched,  and  more  declined,  for  an  Indian's  meal  lasts 
him  many  hours,  and  appetite  had  not  yet  returned. 
In  the  meantime,  Alice  had  become  accustomed  to 
the  strange  attire  of  the  savage,  and  seemed  disposed 
to  make  his  acquaintance,  for  she  stole  nearer  and 
nearer,  and  by  degrees  gained  his  side,  where  she 
looked  up  into  his  face,  regarding  him  with  all  the  cu- 
riosity and  interest  her  blue  eyes  could  express.  The 
Indian  stroked  her  hair,  and  gave  her  a  piece  of  meat 
from  his  trencher,  on  which  she  offered  him  some  of 
her  hommony  and  milk,  which  he  liked  so  much  that 
the  little  girl  saw  it  fast  disappearing,  and  her  looks 
of  undisguised  dismay  amused  her  associate,  for  he  re- 
turned the  empty  bowl  to  her  with  a  bow,  accompa- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  31 

nied  by  a  laugh  so  soft  and  musical,  that  Philip  was 
more  than  ever  interested,  and  thought  him  now  posi- 
tively handsome.  At  length,  however,  he  rose  and 
pointed  to  the  door,  which  his  young  friend  immedi- 
ately opened,  and  followed  him  into  the  garden. 

"  The  red  man  remembers  the  white  man's  kind- 
ness ;  his  shadow  has  not  made  night  in  his  enemy's 
wigwam." 

"  We  are  not  your  enemies,"  said  Philip,  earnestly. 

The  Indian  drew  himself  up  loftily.  "Are  you  my 
friends  ?  Look  at  the  dark  forest,  and  say,  '  When 
all  is  sky — when  there  is  no  forest  there — then  will 
the  red  man  call  the  pale  face  friend.'  He  remembers 
kind  words  :  he  says  peace  to  my  brothers  of  this  wig- 
wam"— and  he  drew  a  curiously-wrought  belt  of 
wampum  from  his  pouch  and  presented  it  to  Philip. 
"  We  are  friends." 

"May  we  not  know  the  name  of  our  friend  ?"  said 
Henry  Randolph,  joining  them  at  this  moment. 

A  flash  of  pride  and  exultation  gleamed  in  the  dark 
eye  of  the  stranger,  as  the  lightning  illumines  the 
clouds  of  a  stormy  sky,  appearing  and  instantly  van- 
ishing. He  answered  in  a  tone  of  forced  coldness, 
though  his  words  betrayed  the  proud  scorn  he  felt 
through  his  assumed  humility,  pointing  at  the  same 
time  to  the  symbol  upon  his  chest  and  arms. 

"  The  son  of  the  eagle  is  not  known  to  the  white 
man.  Why  should  they  ask  his  name  ?  A  great 
chief  among  his  people  is  a  woman,  a  little  child,  in 
the  council  of  your  wise  men.  Go,  go  ! — a  pale  face 
hears  my  name  to-day  :  he  will  not  remember  it  to- 
morrow." 

"  Nay,"  said  Philip,  imploringly,  "  tell  us  the  name 
of  our  friend  ;"  and  he  twisted  the  wampum  round  his 
waist  with  such  evident  satisfaction,  that  it  won  him 
a  reply. 

"  When  the  white  boy  is  in  the  forest,  let  him  call 
for  Oneyda."  These  words  were  said  with  some  hes- 
itation ;  and  the  Indian  hastily  turned  to  depart.  He 
walked  slowly  toward  the  river,  and  they  watched 


32  PHILIP   RANDOLPH. 

him  till  he  disappeared  behind  the  green  hillock  which 
intervened  between  their  dwelling  and  the  stream. 

"  Where  have  I  seen  him  before  ?"  said  Henry,  mu- 
singly, as  he  re-entered  the  dwelling.  "And  now  get 
thee  to  Ralph  Giles,  my  son,  and  be  busy  till  noon, 
when  I  hope  to  return." 

Philip  obeyed  with  alacrity,  and  soon  reached  the 
spot  where  Ralph  was  clearing  or  cutting  down  trees, 
and  it  was  his  part  to  remove  them  to  an  open  space 
for  barking. 

"  Ye  be  long  o'  coming,  Master  Philip,  and  we've 
all  this  row  to  bring  down  afore  nightfall." 

"  Well,  see  if  I  don't  work  as  hard  as  thee,  Ralph  ; 
give  me  my  knife,  and  I'll  be  busy  as  thou  art." 

The  work  was  hard  enough,  and  both  frequently 
stopped  to  wipe  the  perspiration  from  their  heated 
brows,  but  Philip  persevered.  His  companion  was 
not  disposed  to  quiet  reflection  over  his  work,  and 
chatted  from  time  to  time  with  his  young  master,  for 
whose  sagacity  he  had  great  reverence,  nor  had  he  at 
any  time  a  more  agreeable  companion. 

"  I'se  been  thinking,  Master  Philip,  how  different 
things  be  since  we  stepped  ashore  on  the  place  :  then 
trees  were  thick  enough,  and  there  was  neither  sky 
nor  ground  for  'em ;  ye  couldn't  ha'  walked  this  far 
then.  There  must  be  a  deal  of  forest  to  come  at  yet. 
Dear-a-me,  how  the  buds  be  come  out — they're  leaves 
pretty  near  :  no  sooner  is  winter  done  wi\  than  out 
pops  summer." 

"  The  spring  is  early,"  replied  Philip.  "  Thou  hast 
seen  many  changes  since  we  came." 

"  Like  enough,  Master  Philip,  for  we  were  first 
here ;  ay,  and  a  toilsome  time  had  we.  I  was  a  rosy- 
cheeked  lad  o'  seventeen  when  I  followed  Master 
Henry,  and  now  I  be  as  brown  as  one  o'  them  Indians. 
Ah,  this  sun's  not  like  a  good  old  English  sun:  why, 
you,  that  was  such  a  bonny  baby,  is  near  to  be  as  red 
as  any  savage." 

"  Father  does  not  like  us  to  talk  of  the  Indians  just 
now  ;  we  might  be  heard." 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  33 

"  Well,  now,  if  one  be  not  to  speak,  'tis  a  hard 
matter ;  who'll  hear  us  but  the  birds  ?  and  they're  too 
busy  with  their  chattering  to  hearken  unto  us.  Ah, 
if  you  could  but  hear  the  birds  sing  in  England  !  I'se 
rather  hear  a  nice  piping  blackbird  than  any  of  their 
popinjays." 

"  Yet  these  birds  are  beautiful  to  look  at,  and  many 
have  a  sweet  song,"  said  Philip.  "  I  like  much  to 
hear  their  melody  of  a  summer  afternoon." 

Ralph  shook  his  head.  "  That's  just  because  you 
never  lived  in  Old  England.  I'd  like  to  see  you,  Mas- 
ter Philip,  of  a  fine  June  evening,  before  sundown,  in 
hay-making  time,  lying  o'  the  bank  at  the  end  of  our 
meadow  under  the  bannat-tree,  and  just  when  you're 
tired,  cast  up  your  eyes  to  the  sky,  and  hearken  to  the 
throstles  and  blackbirds  singing  their  very  hearts  out ; 
and  in  the  morning  when  the  sun's  up,  to  go  out  to 
the  cornfields  and  see  the  fine  twinkling  water-drops 
upon  the  flowers,  and  the  mists  rolling  themselves  up 
on  the  hills,  and  ye'll  hear  such  a  twitter-twitter  over 
your  head,  and  there  for  sure  you'll  see  a  cloud  of 
wee  tiny  black  things  up  in  the  sky,  and  what  should 
it  be  but  the  larks  that  sing  so  sweet  and  so  high  ? — 
and  there  they're  at  it  all  day,  flying  up  so  fast,  apd 
then  falling  down  all  of  a  sudden  into  the  furzy  bushes. 
Oh  !  but  it  gladdens  my  heart  to  think  of  the  fine  fresh 
air,  and  the  meadows,  and  the  birds,  that  were  all  so 
plenty  down  in  Oak  Hollow."  And  Ralph  bent  down 
to  his  work  with  redoubled  zeal,  but  Philip  saw  that 
his  hardy  hand  dashed  off  the  big  tears  that  were  rolling 
down  his  bronzed  cheek,  for  Ralph  had  a  tender  heart, 
and  loved  his  native  land. 

"  It  was  kind  in  thee  to  follow  my  father,  Ralph. 
We  all  think  so,  and  we  all  wish  you  to  be  happy  and 
comfortable  with  us  in  this  strange  land,"  said  Philip, 
with  a  smile  of  cordial  affection. 

"  I  would  not  ha'  stayed  behind,  I  can  tell  you, 
Master  Philip  ;  for  we  were  all  brought  up  wi'  you 
and  yours,  and  may  be  master  could  not  ha'  managed 
so  well  without  me,"  replied  Ralph,  with  a  smile  of 


34  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

gratified  affection  and  self-complacency.  "  But  where- 
ever  can  them  Indians  ha'  put  themselves  ?  They 
used  to  be  popping  in  at  all  hours ;  howsomever,  I 
suppose  they've  no  liking  to  see  other  folks  in  their 
places." 

"  But  thou  shouldst  remember  they  were  willing 
for  us  to  come,  and  we  hold  their  land  by  treaty  ;  be- 
sides, they  never  lived  much  in  these  parts  :  the  red 
man  loves  the  forest  and  prairies  best." 

"  Ay,  ay;  but  that's  because  he  can  get  no  better. 
It  always  puzzles  me,  Master  Philip,  to  think  what 
he's  the  better  for  our  coming.  I  know  we've  a  good 
bargain  ;  but  'tis  hard  o'  belief  that  any  man  should 
like  to  see  another  stand  in  his  shoes." 

"Well,  but  we  hope  to  do  them  good,  and  that  will 
make  up  for  much  :  only,  I  would  have  thee  remem- 
ber, Ralph,  that  this  bit  of  land  is  really  ours,  and  that 
we  bought  it  from  the  government." 

"  Master  Philip,  how  should  you  know?  Tse  no 
scholar ;  but  I  never  could  see  who  gave  government 
the  land  at  the  first.  Well,  as  you  say,  though  it's 
ours  now — only,"  continued  Ralph,  wiping  his  heat- 
ed brow,  "  I  think  many  a  time,  when  striking  at  their 
timber,  they  might  come  and  cry  out,  '  Holloa  !  what 
art  thou  doing  with  my  wood  V  " 

Philip  laughed  heartily,  and  whatever  he  might 
have  said  about  treaties,  unappropriated  lands,  and  ex- 
change of  benefits,  &c,  &c,  was  interrupted  by  the 
arrival  of  his  little  sisters,  who  had  wandered  in  search 
of  him,  and  intended  to  spend  the  morning  in  his  com- 
pany, till  it  was  time  to  return  home  to  dinner. 

In  the  meantime,  Henry  Randolph  had  proceeded 
with  all  diligence  to  Jamestown,  attended  council,  and 
informed  the  governor  of  the  information  he  had  be- 
come so  singularly  possessed  of,  and  of  his  regret  at 
not  having  been  able  to  ascertain  who  and  what  his 
informant  was.  The  affair  created  great  sensation, 
and  Mr.  Rolfe  felt  especially  interested,  as  he  loved 
romantic  adventure.  His  connexion  with  the  natives, 
as  the  husband  of  their  late  king's  daughter,  had  given 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  35 

him  many  opportunities  of  studying  their  character  ; 
and  he  now  gave  it  as  his  sincere  opinion,  that  they 
must  have  some  deadly  scheme  on  foot  among  them, 
which  it  was  most  important  to  unravel  ;  and,  at  the 
same  time,  he  felt  equally  convinced  that  the  colony 
had  still  a  faithful  ally,  if  he  could  only  be  found  out, 
as  it  was  very  unlikely  that  a  solitary  Indian  should 
separate  himself  from  his  countrymen  in  a  matter  of 
such  consequence. 

Henry  Randolph  departed,  and  the  wind  favoring, 
soon  reached  his  home.  He  deferred  communicating 
his  alarming  suspicions  to  his  wife  till  they  were 
alone  ;  and  though  she  observed  with  concern  the 
shade  that  had  gathered  on  his  brow  since  morning, 
she  did  not  make  inquiries,  thinking  it  more  discreet 
to  wait  for  the  fitting  moment  when  her  husband 
should  think  proper  to  tell  her.  When  their  children 
and  the  old  man  had  retired,  Henry  unburdened  his 
troubled  mind,  and  found  great  support  and  comfort  in 
the  opinion  of  his  judicious  help-meet.  She  was 
sensible  and  strong-minded,  and  did  not  take  so  gloomy 
a  view  of  the  matter  as  her  husband.  She  thought 
that  their  neighbors  should  be  told  and  consulted,  and 
that  a  plan  of  defence  ought  to  be  immediately  deci- 
ded upon,  since  the  safety  of  so  many  of  the  helpless 
and  feeble  depended  upon  the  promptitude  and  pru- 
dence of  the  measure.  She  apprehended  little  danger 
to  themselves  as  a  family ;  but  her  gentle  nature  shrank 
from  the  horrors  of  an  Indian  warfare  ;  and  though 
she  hoped  everything  for  the  Fair  Meadows,  she  trem- 
bled for  the  weaker  and  more  remote  settlements, 
which  seemed  to  lie  so  much  at  the  mercy  of  their 
unknown  foes.  They  both  agreed  in  thinking  it 
wiser  not  to  communicate  the  matter  to  Philip  or 
their  father,  whose  age  and  infirm  health  rendered 
him  a  very  unfit  subject  for  the  anxiety  it  would  oc- 
casion him.  They  took  their  troubles  in  prayer  and 
faith  to  their  God,  who  could  bring  good  out  of  evil, 
and  to  whose  fatherly  protection  they  desired  humbly 
to  commit  themselves. 


36  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 


CHAPTER  V. 

There  was  little  variety  in  the  life  of  a  settler  in 
Virginia  in  those  days  ;  it  was  one  of  toil  rather  than 
of  enjoyment,  yet  not  without  its  pleasures.  Winter 
and  spring  were  seasons  of  labor  ;  but  summer  brought 
rest,  in  the  necessity  of  retiring  from  the  heat  and  glare 
of  the  day,  while  the  evenings  were  generally  devoted 
to  recreation  and  exercise.  The  children  of  the  Fair 
Meadows  were  very  fond  of  their  summer  evenings' 
sports,  more  especially  if  one  of  the  elders  of  the  com- 
munity would  devote  his  leisure  to  them.  They 
liked  to  sit  by  the  river-side  to  listen  to  tales  of  the  old 
country,  and  ask  questions  about  it,  and  indulge  the 
hope  of  visiting  it,  though  sure  they  should  never  like 
any  place  so  well  as  the  Meadows.  There  was  one 
member  of  the  settlement  beloved  by  all,  and  popular 
with  young  and  old.  This  was  Rachel  More,  a  deli- 
cate invalid,  but  one  whose  powers  of  mind  fully  com- 
pensated for  that  bodily  strength  generally  so  much 
esteemed  in  the  household  of  a  settler.  She  had  ac- 
companied her  brother  and  his  family  to  their  Virginian 
home,  but  the  climate  had  further  disordered  her  weak 
constitution,  and  an  active  member  of  the  community 
she  could  not  be  considered.  But  though  she  could 
neither  scour,  nor  bake,  nor  spin  very  long  at  a  time, 
she  found  plenty  of  occupation  in  educating  the  chil- 
dren, or  nursing  the  sick  ;  and  the  sick  and  aged  were 
alike  the  objects  of  her  patient  care. 

Toward  the  end  of  March  the  weather  had  become 
mild  and  genial,  and  one  day  when  Philip  returned 
from  one  of  his  woodland  excursions,  he  found,  to  his 
great  delight,  his  friend  Rachel  More  sitting  in  the 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  37 

porch,  engaged  in  conversation  with  his  grandfather. 
She  had  been  ill  for  some  weeks,  and  this  was  the  first 
time  she  had  ventured  beyond  her  brother's  enclosure  ; 
and  Margaret  Randolph  had  brought  her  over  to  en- 
joy the  sunshine  of  a  bright  afternoon,  and  (what  she 
valued  far  more)  the  society  of  the  old  man,  whose 
piety  and  wisdom  she  could  well  appreciate. 

Philip  felt  much  interested  in  the  conversation  of 
these  two  excellent  persons,  and  though  he  did  not 
join  it,  stood  near,  endeavoring  to  understand  and  ap- 
ply all  he  heard  to  the  wants  of  his  own  mind.  He 
felt  sorry  when  called  away  by  his  father,  who  told 
him  that  he  intended  going  upon  the  river  that  evening, 
and  should  want  the  boat.  As  some  of  the  neighbors 
were  to  accompany  him,  Philip  found  more  than  one 
little  vessel  unmoored,  and,  as  soon  as  he  had  prepared 
their  own,  ran  back  toward  the  house.  He  was  met 
by  Ralph  Giles,  whose  countenance  betrayed  much 
excitement,  and  he  seemed  breathless  with  agitation 
or  haste. 

"  It's  uncommon  strange,  Master  Philip,  but  I'se 
sure  I  seed  a  round  dozen  of  those  Indians  lurking 
about  the  wood,  and  I  don't  like  their  looks  at  all  ;  so 
I  came  up  to  find  master,  and  tell  him  a  piece  o'  my 
mind." 

"  Come,  come,  then,  quick  !"  cried  Philip  ;  and  he 
flew  into  the  garden.  His  father  was  just  taking  leave 
of  Rachel,  and  was  surprised  to  see  his  son  in  such 
agitation.  Philip  was  too  considerate  to  alarm  the 
weak  and  delicate,  and  he  beckoned  to  his  father,  say- 
ing that  he  wished  to  speak  to  him.  Henry  Randolph 
hastened  to  the  gate,  and  his  son  was  just  about  to  tell 
him  of  what  Giles  had  informed  him,  when  suddenly 
there  arose  a  cry  so  terrible  and  unearthly,  that  it 
struck  awe  into  every  heart.  The  children  screamed, 
and  their  mother  rushed  out  of  the  house,  and  in- 
stinctively caught  them  to  her  bosom.  The  old  man 
looked  around  mournfully,  but  stirred  not.  Bridget 
snatched  the  infant  from  its  cradle  ;  and  Ralph  darted 
into  the  dwelling  to  seize  the  arms  from  the  wall ;  but 
4 


38  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

Henry  Randolph  stood  for  a  moment  overwhelmed 
and  paralyzed — the  blow  was  about  to  fall  upon  his 
helpless  family,  and  nothing  had  been  done  to  avert  it. 

Another  cry  arose,  and  Rachel  More  started  to  her 
feet ;  the  color  rushed  to  her  pale  brow,  and  with  a 
desperate  effort  she  cried,  "  To  the  boats,  to  the  boats  ! 
The  Indians  are  upon  us,"  she  added  in  a  lower  tone, 
and  then  sank  back  horror-stricken  in  her  chair.  The 
old  man  groaned,  and  bent  his  feeble  steps  toward  the 
threshold. 

Margaret  Randolph  recovered  her  self-possession, 
and  with  her  two  little  ones  fled  with  lightning  speed 
down  the  garden  toward  the  river  ;  Bridget  was  soon 
by  the  side  of  her  mistress  with  the  baby ;  and  Henry 
endeavored  to  bear  away  his  father.  He  took  him  in 
his  arms,  but  the  old  man  was  heavy,  and  resisted  the 
effort  of  his  son,  commanding  him  to  take  his 'children, 
and  to  leave  him  to  die.  The  alternative  was  fearful ; 
but  Henry,  in  whose  heart  so  many  feelings  were  con- 
flicting, persisted  in  his  filial  duty,  and  bore  him  from 
the  garden. 

"  Fly,  Master  Philip  !"  cried  Ralph  Giles  ;  "  now 
or  never — fly  !  Take  the  little  girl  with  you — they're 
upon  us  ! — but  we'll  see,  my  masters  :  come  on,  and 
you  dare  !"  and  he  posted  himself  at  the  little  gate 
with  a  drawn  sabre,  menacing  the  still  distant  foe. 
The  party  he  had  observed  were  busy  at  their  horrid 
work  on  the  neighboring  farm,  and  as  the  yells  arose 
in  the  air  with  the  screams  of  the  flying  or  expiring, 
the  little  group  drew  closer,  and  Rachel,  half  fainting, 
ejaculated  feebly,  "  Oh  !  Father  of  mercy,  look  down 
and  save!" 

"  There's  no  time  for  nonsense,"  said  Ralph,  blunt- 
ly; "so  you  must  get  along,  Master  Philip,  right 
sharply,  and  I'll  take  Mistress  Alice."  So  saying,  he 
caught  up  the  little  girl,  and  Phi^«  assisted  Rachel  to 
rise.  She  could  scarcely  stand.  " '  Lean  on  me,  dear 
Rachel,  lean,  lean ;  we  have  time — we  shall  escape." 
He  led  her  on  as  quickly  as  he  could  move,  following 
Italph  through  the  house,  that  they  might  get  out  of 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  39 

sight  before  pursued  ;  but  their  purpose  was  baffled. 
The  sturdy  Giles  had  to  place  his  little  charge  upon  the 
ground,  and  bade  her  fly  the  other  way ;  but  the  poor 
child,  bewildered  and  terrified,  clung  to  Rachel,  for 
she  thought  she  should  then  be  safe.  Two  gaunt  and 
ferocious  savages  approached,  their  weapons  smeared, 
just  as  the  little  party  were  crossing  the  doorway  of 
the  kitchen,  and  Ralph  alone  was  armed  to  defend 
them.  A  desperate  struggle  ensued,  and  the  fore- 
most was  overcome  and  lay  at  the  feet  of  his  sturdy 
antagonist. 

"  Now,"  cried  Ralph  Giles*  "  fly,  all  of  ye  :  this  is 
the  time."  But  Philip  still  lingered.  Rachel  had 
fainted,  and  he  could  not  leave  her.  The  valiant  yeo- 
man drove  back  his  second  assailant,  who  retreated, 
probably  going  for  more  aid  ;  and  then  they  made  an- 
other attempt  to  escape  the  dangerous  spot. 

"  Here,  Ralph,  do  you  take  Rachel  in  your  arms; 
I  can  carry  Alice.     We  shall  escape  :  go  forward." 

Ralph  took  up  the  insensible  Rachel  as  if  she  had 
been  a  baby,  and  proceeded  ;  but  again  they  were  as- 
sailed, and  an  Indian  laid  his  powerful  hand  upon 
Philip,  and  bound  him  in  an  instant  with  withes.  Al- 
ice was  next  made  prisoner,  and  again  was  the  worthy 
Giles  compelled  to  relinquish  his  charge.  As  the 
shouts  grew  louder,  and  the  confusion  increased,  they 
were  separated,  and  a  band  of  savages  intervened  be- 
tween the  captives  and  the  faithful  friend  who  would 
have  defended  them  with  his  life.  Philip  shuddered 
as  he  was  borne  along  with  the  struggling  crowd,  and 
a  cry  of  horror  escaped  him  as  he  beheld  the  prostrate 
body  of  Rachel  More.  He  saw  her  suffering  counte- 
nance paler  than  ever  :  the  ashy  hue  of  death  was  on 
it,  and  her  dying  glance  rested  on  him  as  he  passed, 
with  an  expression  of  fond  solicitude  ;  a  stream  of 
crimson  was  flowing  from  her  side,  and  he  knew  that 
the  fatal  knife  had  been  there. 

The  quiet  and  peaceful  settlement  had  suddenly  be- 
come the  abode  of  demoniac  rage  and  cruelty  :  dwel- 
lings were  already  smoking  from  the  fire  just  applied, 


40  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

and  the  groans  of  the  dying  were  yet  mingling  with 
the  cries  of  those  still  fighting  or  in  captivity.  Many 
were  defending  themselves  with  desperate  bravery, 
and  fighting  their  way  toward  the  river-side.  Among 
them  Philip  thought  he  saw  his  father  and  Ralph 
Giles,  and  would  have  raised  his  voice  to  call  them, 
but  his  tongue  was  parched  and  tied  with  horror — he 
could  not  utter  a  word.  In  his  hurried  progress,  he 
stumbled  over  a  body  that  lay  in  the  path  :  it  was  that 
of  his  aged  grandfather  !  His  face  was  still  calm,  but 
his  white  hair  was  discolored  ;  the  fatal  scalping-knife 
had  been  there  also,  and  that  hoary  head  shorn  of  its 
crown.  His  hands  were  still  clasped,  and  from  the 
position  in  which  he  lay,  it  was  evident  that  he  had 
been  struck  down  at  a  blow. 

We  know  not,  truly,  what  an  hour  may  bring  forth. 
But  half  an  hour  previously,  they  had  been  a  happy 
and  united  family.  The  Fair  Meadows  had  become 
the  scene  of  a  dreadful  massacre.  On  that  day  the 
savages  of  the  west  had  fallen  upon  every  defenceless 
settlement  in  Virginia,  and  numberless  were  the  vic- 
tims of  their  cruelty  :  a  day  memorable  in  the  annals 
of  Virginia,  a  lasting  memorial  of  the  natural  ferocity 
of  the  Indian  tribes,  and  a  sad  lesson  to  a  careless  gov- 
ernment ;  but,  as  far  as  the  Randolphs  were  concerned, 
the  hand  of  God  may  be  traced,  and  his  providence 
acknowledged,  who,  though  he  permits  evil  for  atime, 
alone  knows  how  to  bring  good  out  of  evil. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

When  Philip  awoke  to  consciousness  and  misery, 
he  felt  that  his  arms  were  unbound,  and  that  he  was 
lying  upon  grass  under  trees.  He  soon  recognised 
his  position  as  a  captive.  Dark  figures  were  moving 
round  him,  and  at  a  little  distance  sat  a  group  con- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  41 

versing  in  low  tones  ;  and  from  their  frequent  glances 
toward  the  spot  where  he  lay,  he  conjectured  that  he 
himself  was  the  subject  of  their  conversation.  He 
could  not  banish  the  image  of  the  murdered  Rachel — 
her  countenance  of  agony,  or  the  solicitude  of  her  last 
fond  gaze,  which  spoke  the  prayer  she  could  not  ut- 
ter— and  the  ghastly  spectacle  of  his  aged  grandfather 
stretched  lifeless  on  the  ground.  Where,  too,  were 
his  father  and  mother,  his  little  sisters,  and  the  faithful 
Giles  ?  and  at  the  thought  of  their  fate,  Philip  became 
almost  frantic. 

But  he  was  recalled  from  the  absorbing  influence  of 
his  grief  by  the  plaintive  weeping  of  his  little  sister, 
who  had  been  placed  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  not  far  from 
the  spot  where  he-  was  lying.  Philip  started  up,  and 
his  heart  smote  him  for  having  forgotten  the  weaker 
companion  of  his  misery.  The  Indians  watched  him 
narrowly,  but  did  not  intercept  his  approach  to  her. 
The  little  girl's  hands  were  unbound,  and  she  was 
wringing  them  in  a  piteous  manner;  but  when  her 
brother  spoke,  and  laid  his  finger  upon  her  arm,  en- 
treating her  to  look  up,  she  turned,  and,  with  a  scream 
of  joy,  threw  herself  into  his  arms,  exclaiming — 

"  Oh,  Philip,  you  are  alive  !  I  thought  you  were 
dead.  1  thought  you  would  never  speak  to  me  any 
more  !  Take  me  home,  Philip  :  let  us  go — ask  them 
to  let  us  go." 

"  My  precious  Alice,  they  will  not  let  us  go,  but 
thou  wilt  be  with  me.  See,  Alice,  we  are  prisoners  ; 
but  I  think  they  will  not  harm  thee.  Thou  art  not 
afraid  with  me?" 

"  Oh  no,  no,"  said  the  poor  child,  "  I  am  not  afraid 
with  thee,  Philip  ;  but  they  look  so  bad !  Oh,  if 
these  red  men  take  us,  they  will  kill  us  too,  Philip. 
See,  they  are  coming,  they  are  coming — save  me,  Phil- 
ip!" and  she  clung  in  terror  to  him,  trembling  violently. 

"  They  will  not  harm  thee,  my  sweet  Alice  ;  but 
we  must  go  with  ihem,  and  I  shall  be  very  near  thee. 
Thou  must  pray,  Alice,  and  ask  God  to  take  care  of  us. 
We  can  not  help  ourselves." 


42  PHILIP   RANDOLPH. 

Alice  trembled,  but  her  feelings  were  soothed. 
There  was  protection  in  the  voice  of  Philip,  and  she 
submitted  patiently  to  be  taken  from  him  when  one 
of  their  captors  approached  and  lifted  her  in  his  arms 
to  resume  their  toilsome  journey.  The  party  marched 
in  file,  one  leading  and  the  others  carefully  following 
in  his  footsteps.  Philip  felt  scarcely  able  to  move,  but 
was  compelled  to  go  alone,  without  even  the  satisfac- 
tion of  being  near  his  sister ;  but  occasionally  he 
caught  sight  of  her  long  hair  streaming  over  the  shoul- 
der of  her  bearer,  and  though  but  a  poor  consolation, 
he  derived  a  slight  satisfaction  from  it,  and  did  not  feel 
so  desolate. 

At  length,  after  a  fatiguing  progress  of  two  or  three 
hours,  they  gradually  emerged  from  the  tangled  path, 
and  entered  a  more  open  track,  taking  the  direction 
of  the  river,  the  brink  of  which  they  soon  reached, 
and  unmoored  several  canoes.  How  did  Philip's 
heart  ache  as  he  stood  upon  the  bank,  and  turned  to 
take  a  farewell  glance  of  the  green  hillock  which  he 
thought  he  perceived  to  the  eastward,  and  recognised 
the  tall  trees  crowning  its  top,  under  whose  shade  he 
had  spent  so  many  happy  hours,  and  from  which  he 
had  so  often  surveyed  the  distant  hills  and  forests 
where  he  was  probably  going  to  linger  out  his  days  ! 
He  saw,  too,  a  cloud  of  smoke  hovering  over  that  quar- 
ter, occasioned  doubtless  by  the  burning  ruins  of  his 
home  !  Alice,  who  had  fallen  asleep  in  the  arms  of 
her  bearer,  was  laid  in  the  bottom  of  the  first  canoe  : 
three  Indians  entered  it,  and  Philip  was  rudely  pushed 
into  another.  He  sank  down  exhausted,  and  more 
miserable  than  ever.  It  was  now  that  the  Indians 
seemed  to  fear  pursuit,  for  they  rowed  with  all  their 
might,  and  soon  left  the  green  hill  far  behind  them  : 
one  bend  after  another  in  the  winding  river  was  passed, 
and  still  their  exertions  relaxed  not.  When  the  shades 
of  evening  rendered  the  objects  on  the  shore  increas- 
ingly obscure,  they  slackened  speed,  and  drew  up  to 
consult.  Philip  heard  the  voice  of  his  sister ;  she 
called  for  him,  and  he  hastened  to  assure  her  that  he 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  43 

was  near,  and  hoped  they  should  soon  land.  Indeed, 
his  fears  for  her  were  not  groundless,  as  she  was  both 
cold  and  hungry,  and  found  her  position  at  the  bottom 
of  the  canoe  very  uncomfortable. 

The  spot  chosen  by  the  Indians  for  their  night's 
encampment  was  evidently  one  well  known  to  them, 
for  there  were  traces  of  its  having  been  visited  before, 
and  the  ashes  of  a  recent  fire  yet  remained  upon  the 
sylvan  hearth.  They  brought  out  from  some  place 
of  concealment  the  remains  of  a  deer  which  had  been 
left  from  a  previous  meal,  with  a  quantity  of  maize 
already  prepared  after  their  fashion.  Soon  was  a  fire 
lighted,  diffusing  a  heat  and  glow  that  were  cheering 
to  the  captives.  The  Indians  offered  them  food,  and 
clear  water  in  a  calabash,  and  the  fare  being  seasoned 
with  appetite,  was  not  unpalatable.  Alice  revived,  but 
her  brother  felt  anxious  that  she  should  take  rest,  and 
persuaded  her  to  lie  down  with  her  head  upon  his 
knee.  The  Indians  had  the  considerateness  to  furnish 
them  with  a  few  more  furs  and  buffalo-robes,  in  which 
Philip  carefully  wrapped  his  sister,  and  then  reminded 
her  to  say  her  prayers  before  she  slept ;  but  when  she 
commenced  the  simple  petition  her  mother  had 
taught  her,  the  grief  of  the  little  girl  was  renewed, 
and  she  could  not  speak  for  sobbing.  Philip  wept, 
for  he  knew  the  cause  of  her  trouble,  and  for  some 
time  could  not  find  voice  to  pray  for  her.  He  laid 
his  cheek  to  hers  and  kissed  her  tenderly,  and  Alice 
at  length  cried  herself  to  sleep.  But  it  was  long  ere 
Philip  could  compose  himself  to  rest.  The  events 
of  the  day  returned  to  haunt  the  dreamy  moments  of 
exhausted  nature  when  fatigue  and  misery  gained  the 
mastery  over  his  reason  ;  and  while  he  felt  scarcely 
able  to  control  the  wanderings  of  fancy  and  of  memo- 
ry, he  almost  feared  to  sleep,  lest  the  tragedy  should 
be  re-enacted  in  his  dreams,  and  often  started  up  wild- 
ly with  a  cry  of  horror,  as  the  dreadful  scenes  of  the 
morning  recurred  to  his  bewildered  recollection.  In 
one  of  these  awakenings,  he  opened  his  eyes  upon  the 
dark  features  of  the  savage  who  was  posted  as  a  guard 


44  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

to  the  party.  He  was  bending  over  him  with  an  ex 
pression  of  awe  and  wonder  upon  his  swarthy  counte- 
nance, considerably  heightened  by  the  flickering  glare 
of  the  fire-light  which  played  upon  its  fierce  linea- 
ments, giving  to  them  an  effect  so  malignant  and 
threatening,  that  Philip  exclaimed,  in  the  confused 
language  of  his  dreams,  "  Kill  me,  then,  now ;  kill 
me,  but  spare  my  little  sister !" 

But  Philip  did  not  long  repose,  though  he  awoke 
again  without  a  start,  and  calmly  surveyed  the  new 
and  striking  objects  which  surrounded  him.  The 
scene  was  indeed  highly  picturesque.  The  Indians, 
to  the  number  of  ten  dark  figures,  lay  stretched  upon 
the  earth,  wrapped  in  their  buffalo-robes;  their  guard 
stood  upright  against  a  tree,  perfectly  motionless  and 
rigid  as  a  statue,  the  restless  glances  of  his  dark  and 
gleaming  eyes  alone  betokening  life  and  animation  in 
him  who  stood  there.  The  captive  gazed  mutely  upon 
the  savage,  struggling  with  the  flood  of  misery  which 
seemed  swelling  up  from  the  very  depths  of  his  soul, 
threatening  to  overwhelm  and  engulf  him.  How 
dreadful  the  thought,  even  if  life  were  spared,  to  pass 
it  with  such  beings  as  the  petrified  ferocity  he  there 
beheld  !  How  unbearable  their  society,  their  cruelty, 
and  how  dreadful  their  revenge  ! 

"  Oh  my  God  !  my  Father  !"  cried  Philip,  while  the 
tears  again  gushed  forth,  and  sobs  of  anguish  choked 
the  half- uttered  prayer  ;  "  forsake  me  not,  for  thou  art 
mighty  to  save  !  Oh!  my  Savior!  thou  hast  suffered 
— aid  me  and  be  near  me  in  this  dark,  dark  hour!" 
After  this  earnest  but  broken  ejaculation,  he  was  calm- 
er ;  a  sweet  sense  of  the  care  and  providence  of  God 
returned  to  his  heart ;  he  was  led  to  consider  the  sad 
bereavement  and  trials  of  this  day  as  forming  one  of 
the  numberless  events  which  are  only  to  be  viewed  as 
ordered  or  permitted  by  the  Almighty  for  good  purposes, 
and  as  such,  to  be  left  in  his  hand,  that  the  end  of  all 
may  be  well.  Philip  recalled  the  lessons  he  had  so 
lately  learned  from  his  friend  Rachel  More— lessons 
of  obedience  and  faith— whereby  he  might  strengthen 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  45 

his  drooping  courage,  and  fortify  his  soul  in  every 
coming  trial.  He  fell  asleep  again,  with  the  wordy 
of  the  psalmist  on  his  lips  :  "  I  will  say  of  the  Lord, 
He  is  my  refuge  and  my  fortress ;  my  God  :  in  him 
will  I  trust." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

It  were  tedious  to  dwell  upon  the  journey  of  Philip 
and  Alice  Randolph  to  the  west.  After  two  days  of 
equal  toil  and  misery,  they  were  again  sailing  up  the 
river. 

Philip  was  permitted  to  be  with  his  sister,  and  if 
aught  could  have  diminished  the  weight  of  the  burden 
which  oppressed  him,  his  heart  had  felt  lighter  and 
less  bereaved  when  he  saw  Alice  gradually  reviving 
from  the  effects  of  the  terrible  blow  which  had  fallen 
upon  her  with  the  suddenness  of  a  thunderbolt.  Al- 
ice was  too  young  to  cherish  sorrow ;  she  naturally 
banished  it  from  her  heart  as  an  unwelcome  guest 
who  would  mar  all  the  enjoyment  she  so  loved,  and 
she  was  too  ignorant  of  the  perils  to  which  she  was 
exposed  to  anticipate  evil  of  any  kind.  She  often 
turned  to  her  brother  with  the  animation  of  renewed 
hope  beaming  in  her  bright  countenance,  and  besought 
him  to  cheer  up,  for  she  was  sure  Ralph  Giles  or 
father  would  soon  rorae  after  them,  and  take  them 
home  again.  She  had  lost  her  terror  at  their  fero- 
cious captors,  and  found  herself  an  acceptable  com- 
panion to  those  who  had  probably  children  at  home ; 
and  being  permitted  the  use  of  a  paddle  whenever  she 
pleased,  she  amused  her  many  idle  moments  in  learn- 
ing to  row  and  manage  the  canoe. 

Early  one  afternoon  they  landed,  and  the  canoes 
were  drawn  ashore  as  if  no  further  use  were  to  be 
made  of  them.     Alice  was   again   elevated    on   the 


46  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

shoulder  of  an  Indian,  and  the  party  commenced  an 
inland  journey.  They  followed  the  course  of  the 
river  on  a  high  level  above  its  banks  as  far  as  the  path 
admitted,  and  then  struck  off  in  a  northerly  direction, 
their  route  lying  across  an  undulating  plain  rather 
savannah,  intersected  by  many  tracks,  which,  from 
their  appearance,  had  been  frequently  trodden  of  late. 
The  savages  walked  less  regularly,  and  with  the  care- 
less manner  of  those  who  have  ridden  themselves  of 
an  irksome  restraint  not  to  he  resumed  if  possible;  and 
even  the  habitual  dignity  of  Indian  reserve  seemed  to 
have  been  thrown  aside,  or,  replaced  by  exultation  at 
their  anticipated  triumph  when  they  should  return  to 
their  villages  with  the  news  of  their  glorious  victory 
over  the  defenceless  pale  face,  and  exhibit  the  won- 
drous beings  whom  they  had  made  captives.  At  a 
late  hour  they  encamped  for  the  last  time,  and  some 
of  the  party  commenced  the  operation  of  painting 
afresh  and  decorating  their  persons  with  the  spoils  of 
the  ravaged  settlement. 

Morning  returned,  and  with  it  new  trials  for  the 
captives.  They  commenced  their  march,  however, 
and  on  the  way  Philip  sought  to  calm  his  fears  of 
future  evil  by  firm  and  composed  reflection.  He 
thought  it  useless  to  anticipate  sorrow  by  suffering  in 
imagination  what  might  in  the  good  providence  of 
God  be  averted  ;  and  bidding  Alice  take  heart  and  be 
cheerful,  he  followed  his  captors  with  as  much  alac- 
rity as  if  he  were  returning  home  to  his  friends  and 
family. 

They  ascended  a  hill  which  gradually  became  so 
steep  and  difficult  that  Philip  conjectured  they  must 
now  be  upon  one  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  those  azure- 
colored  mountains  which  he  had  seen  from  the  river. 
The  fatigue  of  ascending  depressed  him,  and  weaken- 
ed by  previous  suffering  of  mind  and  exposure  to  hard- 
ships he  had  never  before  encountered,  he  found  his 
strength  greatly  diminish.  Thus  they  proceeded  till 
after  a  toilsome  walk  of  a  few  hours  the  party  halted, 
and  a  young  man,  who  seemed  to  be  their  leader,  took 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  47 

the  prisoners  under  his  care.  He  was  fierce-looking, 
and  had  a  most  malignant  expression  in  his  eye, 
though,  as  he  scanned  the  manly  proportions  of  Phil- 
ip, it  relaxed  into  one  of  approval  and  admiration. 
After  he  had  despatched  one  or  two  of  his  party  as 
heralds  to  announce  their  approach,  he  set  forward 
with  the  rest,  and  as  they  now  began  to  descend  the 
hill,  their  progress  was  rapid.  They  were  apparently 
entering  one  of  the  green  and  secluded  valleys  of  the 
west  of  Virginia.  The  side  of  the  hill  was  covered 
with  rhododendrons  and  other  flowering  shrubs  ;  and 
the  smoke  of  a  neighboring  village  was  plainly  seen 
rising  from  the  woods  already  bursting  into  leaf,  and 
a  fair  clear  stream  flowed  through  the  vale  at  a  little 
distance  from  their  dwellings.  Several  huts  of  rude 
construction  were  scattered  among  the  trees  or  in  the 
midst  of  green  and  open  glades  with  which  the  plain 
was  interspersed. 

Philip  was  much  interested  in  looking  for  the  first 
time  upon  an  Indian  village,  and  felt  surprised  at  the 
general  air  of  neatness  and  comfort  it  presented.  He 
had  often  thought,  with  more  romance  than  reason, 
that  a  woodland  life  would  surely  prove  a  happy  one, 
and  that  savages  had  many  advantages  over  the  civil- 
ized world  in  the  primitive  simplicity  of  their  mode 
of  living,  and  in  the  few  wants  with  which  they  were 
acquainted.  He  now  felt  differently.  A  transient 
curiosity  yielded  to  the  dread  of  unknown  trials,  and 
the  dangers  of  his  situation  returned  to  his  recollec- 
tion. He  knew  not  the  character  of  the  tribe  whose 
habitations  were  now  in  sight ;  but,  from  all  he  had 
lately  witnessed,  he  could  only  suppose  them  to  be  as 
barbarous  as  other  savage  people.  And  what  treat- 
ment could  he  expect  from  their  hands  more  merciful 
or  humane  than  their  usual  mode  of  dealing  with  their 
prisoners  ?  Philip  would  have  felt  it  difficult  to  look 
calm  had  he  not  glanced  at  Alice,  whose  blanched 
cheek  betrayed  the  fear  with  which  she  regarded  her 
present  conductor,  who  had  placed  her  upon  the 
ground,  and  was  rather  dragging  than  leading  her,  as 


48  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

he  strode  along  with  triumphant  pace  to  the  village. 
The  sight  of  her  fear,  recalled  Philip  to  his  present 
duty,  and  he  was  enabled  to  walk  in  the  steps  of  his 
captor  with  an  air  of  dauntless  firmness  that  could  not 
fail  to  attract  his  notice  and  win  his  approbation. 

The  savages  raised  their  war-song.  It  was  a  low 
irregular  chant,  without  melody  or  harmony,  re- 
markable only  for  its  uncouth  monotony.  In  response, 
a  cry  was  heard  ;  and  then  came  rushing  from  the 
wood  a  crowd  of  children  to  hail  the  return  of  the 
war  party.  As  they  proceeded  they  were  met  by  the 
old  men  and  women  of  the  tribe  ;  for  most  of  the 
warriors  were  absent,  and  no  others  remained  to  wel- 
come the  victors.  Great  seemed  to  be  the  joy  of  the 
whole  village  at  the  sight  of  the  two  captives.  Even 
the  gravity  and  dignity  of  the  old  men  gave  way  to  an 
uncontrollable  expression  of  wonder  at  the  complex- 
son  and  attire  of  the  young  strangers.  Alice  was 
regarded  as  a  being  of  higher  skies  :  they  did  not 
approach  her,  but  gazed  upon  her  fairy  figure  and 
long  golden  ringlets  with  something  of  awe  and  ador- 
ation. Alice's  countenance  was  usually  mirthful,  and 
her  eyes  arch  and  roguish;  but  now  she  trembled, 
and  seemed  to  shrink  within  herself  from  their  rude 
and  alarming  stare.  Philip  made  unceasing  efforts  to 
occupy  her  attention,  talking  to  and  encouraging  her, 
and  telling  her  what  she  was  to  do  if  they  were  sep- 
arated. 

When  they  had  made  the  round  of  the  village,  they 
reached  a  large  building  in  the  centre,  constructed  of 
logs,  more  neatly  put  together  than  the  huts,  which 
were  chiefly  made  of  poles  covered  with  bark  and  clay. 
In  this  lodge  the  old  men  sat  to  deliberate  upon  the 
fate  of  their  prisoners,  for  the  warriors  led  in  their 
captives  to  stand  before  them. 

Philip  threw  his  arm  fondly  around  Alice,  who 
began  to  cry  and  sob,  for  she  could  not  look  upon  her 
judges  without  terror,  and  clung  to  her  brother  as  if 
safety  were  only  to  be  found  with  him.  It  was, 
therefore,  a  hard  trial  to  poor  Philip  when  she  was 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  49 

taken  from  him  and  given  up  to  some  women,  who, 
however,  received  her  with  kindness,  and  in  whose 
hearts  better  feelings  seemed  stirring  at  sight  of  her 
grief.  But  for  him  was  reserved  another  fate.  After 
a  few  moments  deliberation  and  scrutiny,  he  was  led 
away  to  a  space  before  the  council  lodge  and  bound 
to  a  tall  stake  ;  and  before  he  could  recover  from  his 
surprise  at  this  sudden  proceeding,  he  was  surrounded 
by  a  crowd  of  boys.  Hooting  and  yelling  at  him, 
they  assailed  their  defenceless  victim  with  sundry 
missiles  ;  but  presence  of  mind  did  not  forsake  him — 
he  retained  his  firm  demeanor,  though  his  heart  beat 
fearfully.  After  indulging  their  malice  for  a  while  in 
this  manner,  they  withdrew  to  a  distance,  and,  taking 
their  bows  and  arrows,  made  him  a  mark  for  practice. 
Had  they  been  more  expert,  his  sufferings  had  soon 
ended  ;  but  as  yet  their  arrows  passed  him  harmlessly. 
At  length  an  elder  boy,  who  grew  impatient  that  the 
sport  should  be  so  dull,  took  better  aim  and  shot  him 
in  the  arm  :  the  pain  was  extreme,  and  the  blood  be- 
gan to  flow.  The  prisoner,  already  exhausted  by 
fatigue  and  anxiety,  sickened  at  the  sight  which 
brought  with  it  so  many  associations  of  horror  to  his 
recollection,  and,  ere  the  shout  of  savage  triumph  had 
passed  away,  he  drooped  fainting  at  the  stake,  and  his 
tormentor,  who  had  greatly  admired  the  brave  bearing 
of  the  white  boy,  was  the  first  to  fly  to  his  aid,  and 
with  his  own  knife  cut  the  bonds  that  bound  him. 
Philip  sank  to  the  ground  perfectly  insensible,  and  in 
this  state  was  carried  into  a  hut  appropriated  for  pris- 
oners. As  they  intended  to  try  his  courage  another 
day,  the  young  savages  left  him  to  the  care  of  an  old 
woman,  who  set  about  recovering  him  from  his  swoon. 
5 


60  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  morning  light  penetrating  the  chunks  of  his 
rude  prison,  aroused  the  sleeping  Philip,  who,  after  a 
restless  slumber,  awoke  to  realize  the  danger  and 
dreariness  of  his  situation.  It  was  not  immediately 
on  first  opening  his  eyes  that  he  recognised  his  posi- 
tion, or  the  strange  character  of  the  place  in  which 
he  lay  ;  but  as  soon  as  consciousness  returned,  he 
sprang  from  the  mat,  and  threw  himself  upon  his 
knees  in  earnest  prayer.  Life  was  still  precious  to 
him;  its  instincts  warm  within  him,  and  the  thought 
of  the  peril  to  which  he  was  exposed,  as  a  captive 
among  savages,  was  almost  too  horrible  to  be  borne  : 
yet  Philip  knew  it  was  still  in  the  power  of  God  to 
save  him,  and  he  prayed  for  deliverance  in  the  first 
thrilling  moments  of  his  terror.  He  was  afraid  and 
unmanned  by  the  anticipation  of  torture,  and  wept  and 
wrung  his  hands,  and  implored  the  protection  of  his 
Heavenly  Father  more  earnestly  than  he  had  ever 
done  in  his  life  ;  but  soon  this  paroxysm  of  fear  sub- 
sided, and  he  became  gradually  calmer.  He  commit- 
ted himself,  his  fears,  his  perils,  his  life,  and  death,  to 
the  keeping  of  Him  who  could  order  all  things  well; 
and  he  arose  from  his  knees  in  strength  and  in  spirit, 
and  almost  content  with  his  lot. 

In  this  temper,  and  outwardly  calm,  he  was  found 
by  the  old  squaw,  who  peeped  in  to  see  that  all  was 
safe.  He  hoped  that  she  had  brought  him  some  food, 
but  this  was  not  the  case;  and  he  would  have  fared 
very  ill  at  her  hands,  but  for  the  kindness  of  a  young 
woman  who  had  visited  him  on  the  previous  evening. 
She  came  to  see  the  captive,  and  sent  one  of  the  wo- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  51 

men  who  attended  her,  to  procure  refreshment;  and 
she  presently  returned,  bearing  a  calabash  with  honey 
and  corn.  Philip  relished  his  breakfast,  and  found  it 
invigorating.  The  young  woman  looked  at  his  wound- 
ed arm,  then  giving  further  directions  to  the  squaw, 
withdrew,  and  left  him  once  more  to  his  companion. 
She  did  not  trouble  herself  to  bandage  it,  but  after  be- 
stowing a  hasty  glance  upon  the  herbs  and  leaves  she 
had  so  carefully  arranged  the  day  before,  abruptly 
quitted  the  hut,  leaving  the  prisoner  to  his  meditations. 
The  cause  of  this  very  sudden  departure  was  soon 
explained,  for  he  heard  loud  shouts,  as  of  triumph, 
rending  the  air,  and  then  a  crowd  hurried  past  the 
wigwam.  Philip  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it,  for 
the  squaw,  in  her  haste,  forgot  to  secure  it.  The  hut 
faced  the  square  or  centre-ground  of  the  village,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  a  multitude  now  thronged  it.  A  war 
party,  just  returned,  were  leading  two  prisoners  in  the 
dress  of  the  colony's  service,  up  to  the  stake  to  which 
Philip  had  been  bound  the  day  before  ;  and  boys, 
women,  and.  children,  old  men  and  youthful  warriors, 
were  testifying  their  savage  exultation  at  the  near 
prospect  of  a  glorious  torture. 

One  of  the  prisoners  was  a  tall  man,  whose  rich 
uniform  attracted  the  attention  and  covetousness  of 
the  Indians,  for  many  a  hand  was  stretched  out  gree- 
dily to  snatch  at  the  torn  embroidery  and  gold  lace 
that  so  profusely  adorned  his  crimson  surcoat.  His 
bearing  was  bold  and  dauntless,  though  cautious  and 
watchful ;  and  he  drew  his  crushed  beaver  over  his 
face,  as  it  appeared,  to  avoid  the  gaze  of  the  savage 
multitude  who  were  yelling  at  him,  endeavoring  by 
their  clamor  to  bewilder  their  captive,  whose  provo- 
king calmness  they  much  admired  but  resolved  to 
ruffle. 

His  companion  was  less  in  stature,  and  so  worn  and 
feeble  that  it  seemed  scarcely  possible  for  him  to  sus- 
tain the  torrent  of  abuse  and  menace  that  assailed 
him.  He  leaned  on  his  companion's  arm  in  evident 
helplessness,  and  drew  his  breath  with  difficulty,  fre- 


52  PHILIP    RANDOLPH.      ' 

quently  pressing  his  side  as  if  in  extreme  pain  :  but 
with  all  this  bodily  exhaustion  the  countenance  of  the 
prisoner  was  perfectly  serene.  Philip  remarked,  with 
emotions  of  horror  and  disgust,  how  eagerly  the  sav- 
ages fastened  upon  their  victims.  When  they  had 
bound  them  to  separate  stakes,  they  paused  for  a  few 
moments  to  consult  among  themselves.  The  result 
of  the  debate  was  the  immediate  summons  to  Philip 
to  join  them.  He  was  still  standing  with  his  wounded 
arm  unbound,  at  the  door  of  the  wigwam,  and  hastily 
obeyed  the  messenger  who  was  despatched  to  conduct 
him  to  the  place  of  torture  ;  but  no  one  bound  him  ; 
he  was  permitted  to  stand  unmolested  and  almost  un- 
noticed, opposite  the  stakes  of  his  countrymen.  Phil- 
ip could  not  bear  to  witness  their  sufferings,  and  turned 
his  head  away ;  but  upon  hearing  his  name  uttered  in 
feeble  accents  by  the  exhausted  prisoner,  he  hastily 
advanced  toward  him,  nor  was  he  interrupted  by  the 
bystanders. 

"  Oh  Master  Morton,  I  knew  you  not;  I  grieve  to 
see  you  here." 

"  Nay,  grieve  not,  Philip,  for  my  hours  are  num- 
bered :  please  God,  I  shall  not  Jive  long  under  torture. 
1  rose  from  my  bed  of  sickness  to  aid  our  suffering 
countrymen,  and  was  captured,  as  you  see  ;  but  I 
must  tell  thee,  while  I  may,  the  good  news  of  thy 
father's  safety.  I  saw  him  and  his  family  in  James- 
town on  the  evening  of  the  massacre.  They  are  in 
no  danger  there." 

"  So,  this  is  Henry  Randolph's  hope,  is  it?"  said 
Morton's  companion.  "  Well,  my  lad,  I'm  sorry  to 
see  thee  in  this  case,  but  they'll  not  harm  thee.  No, 
no,  take  my  word  for  it,  they'll  make  a  warrior  of 
thee,  and  thou  canst  help  the  king  and  colony  all  in 
good  time.  Hast  thou  a  knife  about  thee  ?  for  those 
noisy  imps  should  not  hinder  me  if  I  could  but  cut 
these  bonds.  Come  nearer,  boy,  and  do  me  this  ser- 
vice." 

Philip's  heart  was  in  a  tumult  of  joy  and  thankful- 
ness, thus  assured  of  the  safety  of  those  so  dear  to 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  53 

him;  but  he  complied  with  the  prisoner's  request, 
and  slipped  a  little  clasp  knife  into  his  pocket  so 
adroitly  as  not  to  be  detected  by  the  savages,  who 
were  busily  preparing  the  torture  tires. 

"  William  Morton,"  said  his  companion,  "  if  thou 
art  wise  thou  wilt  take  some  of  the  powder  I  spoke 
of,  which  will  send  thee  off  quickly,  I  warrant  thee 
on  the  word  of  a  soldier ;  and,  therefore,  'twill  only 
serve  to  shorten  tby  sufferings,  so  thou  wilt  be  better 
off  than  I  could  have  hoped  for  thee." 

"I  tell  you,  Captain  Preston,"  said  his  companion, 
in  hoarse  and  broken  accents,  "  hope  is  vain  for  both  ; 
you  had  far  better  take  to  prayer  than  indulge  in  any 
scheme  so  delusive.  Provoke  not  the  cruelty  of  yon 
savage  crowd:  you  are  helpless!  Why  not  yield, 
like  a  brave  man,  to  the  will  of  the  Almighty  ?  He 
has  brought  us  into  this  strait,  doubtless  that  we 
should  glorify  Him.  And  as  to  the  means  you  pro- 
pose of  shortening  my  sufferings,  I  should  be  un- 
willing to  try  them  ;  more  will  not  be  laid  upon  me 
than  I  can  bear — God's  will  be  done !" 

Captain  Preston  answered  sternly,  "  I  have  given 
you  my  best  advice,  Master  Morton,  and  since  you 
reject  it,  I  must  fain  follow  my  own,  and  make  a  push 
for  myself;  but  for  the  sake  of  this  boy,  I  could  wish 
to  know  the  tribe  of  these  tawneys.  Yet  harkee,  lad, 
wilt  take  thy  chance  and  run  for  it  ?  Come,  a  few 
good  blows  at  these  urchins  and  we'll  clear  these 
woods  in  no  time.  Follow  me,  boy,  if  thou  lovest 
freedom." 

"I  have  a  little  captive  sister,  and  I  can  not  leave 
her,"  replied  Philip,  calmly  retiring  from  the  spot  to 
a  little  distance,  to  avoid  the  crowd  of  boys  and  chil- 
dren who  were  heaping  fuel  and  rubbish  around  the 
pile.  Captain  Preston  looked  on  warily  from  under 
the  slouching  front  of  his  beaver,  and  perceived  that 
the  elders  and  warriors  were  about  to  withdraw  for 
their  weapons  of  torture,  and  felt  well  assured  that  no 
gentle  death  of  mercy  was  in  store  for  him.  He 
stood  still,  apparently  unheeding  the  yells  and  insults 
5* 


54  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

of  his  young  tormentors  ;  but  he  had  contrived  to  free 
himself  from  the  withes  that  bound  him,  and  snatch- 
ing a  hatchet  from  the  nearest  foe,  sprang  over  the 
mass  of  wood  and  straw  so  busily  collecting  around 
him,  ran  toward  the  river,  and  instantly  disappeared. 

The  boys  were  so  astonished  by  this  unexpected 
movement,  that  they  were  at  first  unable  to  commu- 
nicate the  intelligence ;  but  ere  five  minutes  had 
elapsed,  the  whole  village  was  in  commotion,  and  the 
warriors  all  in  suspense.  The  feat  was  so  daring  and 
unforeseen,  and  its  accomplishment  so  rapid,  that  they 
were  lost  in  amazement  at  the  subtlety  and  courage 
of  their  foe  ;  regarding  him  as  one  whose  powers  of 
head  and  limb  far  surpassed  any  they  could  have  con- 
ceived it  possible  for  a  white  man  to  possess.  In  the 
sight  of  their  women  and  children,  just  as  they  were 
returning  with  their  weapons  of  torture  and  destruc- 
tion, he  had  contrived  to  effect  his  escape.  However, 
they  did  not  remain  inactive.  Men,  boys,  and  war- 
riors, set  off  in  pursuit,  and  when  Philip  observed  the 
speed  at  which  they  ran,  and  how  they  took  different 
sides  of  the  wood  that  lay  between  the  village  and  the 
hill,  he  trembled  for  Captain  Preston.  All  he  could 
hope  was,  that  he  would  use  the  greatest  prudence  in 
his  flight ;  and  when  he  remembered  the  reputation 
of  that  officer  as  so  well  skilled  in  Indian  tactics,  he 
trusted  that  he  might  yet  escape. 

For  more  than  two  hours  did  the  other  prisoner 
linger  at  the  stake  unharmed  by  the  rest  of  the  sava- 
ges. He  was  fast  drooping,  and  Philip's  heart  yearned 
toward  him  with  compassionate  interest,  that  he  drew 
near  to  speak  a  few  words  of  comfort  to  his  departing 
spirit.  The  dying  man  regarded  him  gratefully,  and 
after  many  efforts,  murmured  a  few  words,  interrupted 
by  frequentsighs  and  violent  coughing,  which  seemed 
to  shake  every  bone  in  his  frail  body:  his  bound  arms 
struggled  for  a  moment,  but  he  had  not  strength  to 
break  the  fetters  that  confined  his  hands.  Philip 
could  not  bear  to  see  him  in  this  posture,  and  regard- 
less of  all  that  might  befall,  rushed  to  his  side,  and 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  55 

gently  taking  his  head  between  his  hands  supported 
him,  whispering  a  few  texts  in  his  ear.  The  savages 
did  not  prevent  him.  Their  eyes  were  eagerly  fixed 
upon  the  woods,  from  which  their  companions  were 
just  issuing,  with  rage  and  disappointment  depicted 
upon  their  countenances ;  for  Captain  Preston  was 
not  to  be  seen,  and  their  pursuit  had  been  unsuccess- 
ful. 

They  turned  with  menacing  gestures  toward  their 
remaining  captive.  Philip  rejoiced  at  heart  that  they 
would  exert  their  vengeance  vainly.  He  held  the 
dying  Morton's  head,  and  having  broken  a  few  of  his 
cramping  fetters,  he  felt  that  every  breath  he  drew 
became  more  feeble.  When  they  came  up  with  tom- 
ahawk and  hatchet  unsheathed  and  uplifted,  he  pointed 
expressively  to  the  closed  eyes  and  rigidly-set  features 
of  their  intended  victim.  They  gazed  in  mute  astonJ 
ishment  one  instant,  and  then  set  up  a  howl  of  min- 
gled despair  and  rage.  They  glanced  at  Philip,  and 
a  few  hasty  wTords  were  exchanged  between  the  fore- 
most of  the  party,  two  ferocious-looking  savages,  who 
appeared  to  dispute  some  matter  in  which  he  was  con- 
cerned. The  contest  grew  loud,  and  another  advanced, 
whose  dignified  demeanor  announced  him  as  a  chief 
He  laid  his  iron-grasp  upon  Philip's  shoulder,  and 
turned  to  address  his  companions.  His  language  was 
not  understood  by  his  captive,  but  Philip  saw  that  its 
effect  was  to  make  them  all  more  fierce.  Their  regret 
and  anger  were  so  great  at  losing  their  other  victims, 
that  they  thirsted  for  his  blood.  A.  hundred  knives 
gleamed  in  the  air,  and  they  all  thronged  around  him, 
each  snatching  at  some  article  of  dress,  and  merci- 
lessly tearing  the  sleeve  from  his  wounded  arm,  left 
him  half  destitute  of  clothing,  and  exposed  to  all  their 
relentless  vengeance.  Philip  still  clung  to  life,  and  in 
this  moment  of  peril  thought  of  all  or  of  anything  he 
might  do  to  save  it.  The  name  of  Oneyda  flashed 
across  his  mind,  and  he  thought  of  the  wampum  belt 
presented  by  the  stranger  Indian  on  the  morning  of 
his  departure  from  their  dwelling      With  the  urgency 


56  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

of  one  whose  life  is  indeed  at  stake,  he  drew  the  cu- 
riously-wrought band  from  the  pocket  of  his  jerkin, 
not  yet  rifled  by  the  greedy  hands  around  him,  and 
holding  it  up,  called  loudly  upon  the  name  of  Oneyda. 
There  was  a  long  and  portentous  silence.  Every 
brow  grew  darker,  but  not  a  hand  was  stirred,  and 
Philip  felt  the  tiger-like  grasp  of  the  savage  relax:  he 
was  free  at  length,  and  stepped  forth  boldly  into  the 
circle  of  old  men,  holding  up  the  belt  to  their  view. 
They  looked  gravely  at  one  another,  and  addressed  a 
few  words  to  the  warriors,  who  lowered  their  shining 
weapons;  but  murmurs  still  went  round  the  assem- 
bly, and  Philip  saw  that  he  had  yet  much  to  dread 
from  their  dangerous  vicinity.  But  a  friend  appeared 
in  this  moment  of  suspense  and  apprehension.  To 
Jie  yells  of  rage  and  murmurs  of  disappointed  ven- 
eance,  suceeded  shouts  of  triumph  and  of  rapturous 

jpy- 

Another  war  party  entered  the  village,  laden  with 
spoils  and  trophies  of  their  barbarous  victory  over  the 
detested  Yengees.  The  warrior  in  advance  appeared 
to  be  their  leader  ;  for  his  dress  was  rich,  and  for  an 
Indian  chief,  almost  magnificent.  The  skin  which 
composed  his  frock  or  hunting-shirt,  was  emblazoned 
with  various  hieroglyphics,  probably  the  history  of  his 
own  exploits  in  war:  he  wore  many  rude  ornaments 
of  the  precious  metals,  and  a  large  plume  of  eagle's 
feathers  nodded  over  his  dark  but  handsome  features. 
Philip  could  not  think  himself  mistaken  :  he  had  seen 
that  majestic  figure  before,  and  knew  it  could  be  none 
other  than  Oneyda.  The  chief  was  greeted  with  ex- 
traordinary manifestations  of  joy,  and  even  the  old 
men  quitted  their  stations  to  do  him  homage.  The 
women  held  up  their  little  ones  to  behold  him;  and 
the  young  men  and  boys  approached  eagerly,  and  as 
near  as  they  dared  to  the  spot  where  he  stood.  The 
captive  was  soon  summoned  to  the  presence  of  the 
great  warrior,  who  scarcely  returned  his  courteous 
salutation,  but  instantly  laying  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  Oneyda  addressed  the  surrounding  crowd  in 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  57 

rapid  but  singularly  musical  language.  It  seemed  to 
carry  persuasion  with  it ;  for  every  countenance  be- 
came calm,  every  knife  was  sheathed,  and  every  hatch- 
et thrown  to  the  eanh;  not  a  murmur  was  uttered, 
but  all  stood  attentively  listening,  and  in  attitudes  of 
submission  and  respect.  Philip  was  surprised  at  the 
extraordinary  change  produced  in  those  around  him  : 
a  few  words  from  this  stranger  had  stilled  their  tur- 
bulent spirits,  and  transformed  these  resentful  savages 
into  the  tractable  subjects  of  a  despotic  chief.  Oney- 
da  concluded  his  oration  by  baring  his  wounded  limb, 
and  displaying  the  scar  which  was  still  visible.  This 
last  appeal  was  unanswerable,  and  its  eloquence  reach- 
ed the  best  feelings  of  his  auditors.  They  extended 
their  hands  to  Philip,  and  endeavored  to  show  him 
how  much  they  approved  his  conduct ;  and  their  grat- 
itude was  as  troublesome  as  their  rage  had  been  im- 
portunate. He  shrank  back  from  their  rude  atten- 
tions, and,  passing  his  arm  hastily  through  that  of  his 
deliverer,  said  earnestly,  "  Oneyda,  take  me  to  your 
wigwam;  I  am  weary ;  let  us  go  !" 

The  chief  complied,  and  the  crowd  divided  to  let 
them  pass.  On  their  way  Philip  stopped  before  the 
lifeless  body  of  William  Morton.  He  turned  to 
Oneyda,  and  summoned  resolution  to  request  that  it 
might  be  buried.  A  dark  shade  passed  over  the  brow 
of  the  Indian  as  he  replied  haughtily,  and  in  better 
English  than  he  had  condescended  to  use  in  the 
dwelling  of  Henry  Randolph: — 

"  My  young  men  are  the  children  of  the  eagle ; 
they  must  have  their  prey ;  they  hold  fast ;  they  never 
give  back.  The  son  of  the  pale  face  shall  come  to 
Oneyda's  wigwam,  and  he  will  forget  the  dead  dog 
that  dies  at  the  torture-stake." 

Oneyda's  wigwam  was  the  largest  in  the  village, 
and  contained  four  or  five  apartments,  all  constructed 
and  arranged  with  greater  regard  to  neatness  and  cora- 
forLtnan  was  usual  among  the  Indians  of  the  west. 
The  young  woman  who  had  visited  Philip  in  the  hut 
was  sitting  upon  a  richly-dressed  mat  upon  the  floor 


58  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

When  they  entered  she  instantly  arose  with  gladness 
and  delight  in  her  eyes,  and  yet  timidly  advanced  to 
greet  her  husband,  who,  like  others  of  his  race,  hardly 
condescended  to  notice  his  wife,  and  carelessly  throw- 
ing off  the  weapons  that  encumbered  him,  and  pre- 
senting her  with  the  surplus  ornaments  he  had  taken 
from  the  ravaged  settlements,  turned  away  to  look  for 
his  companion,  who  had  made  his  way  to  another 
apartment,  and  was  now  standing  with  his  little  sister 
clinging  to  his  neck  crying  aloud  for  joy.  Philip  had 
caught  a  glimpse  of  Alice  upon  entering  the  wigwam, 
and  rushed  forward,  calling  her  by  name,  to  announce 
his  approach.  She  was  playing  with  an  Indian  baby, 
whose  swarthy  fingers  were  busily  travelling  through 
her  long  bright  hair,  and  very  much  pleased  did  she 
appear  with  her  plaything.  However,  when  she 
heard  her  brother's  voice,  down  rolled  the  baby  on  the 
floor,  and  regardless  of  its  screaming,  she  flew  into 
his  arms  and  almost  strangled  him  in  her  embrace. 
She  was  for  some  moments  quite  overcome  with  ec- 
stacy  and  surprise ;  but  when  she  found  voice  to  speak, 
she  poured  forth  such  a  mingled  strain  of  joy  at  pres- 
ent happiness,  and  misery  endured  in  his  absence, 
that  Philip,  smiling,  bade  her  be  silent  awhde  and  tell 
him  all  by-and-by  when  she  had  recovered  breath. 
Alice  was  indeed  supremely  happy  while  looking  into 
his  face  and  safely  sheltered  in  his  arms.  She  thought 
of  nothing  but  the  present  felicity,  and  was  only  re- 
called to  other  recollections  by  the  appearance  of  the 
^hief,  who  came  to  take  up  the  crying  infant,  soon 
^:  soothed  by  his  father's  caresses. 

"  Oh,  Philip,  I  dare  say  that  Indian  man  is  that 
kind  woman's  husband.  Dost  thou  kpow  she  sang 
me  to  sleep,  and  gave  me  the  baby  to  play  with  ?  and 
I  dare  say  she'll  coax  him  to  let  us  go'.'* 

"  Do  you  remember  giving  that  man  some  of  your 
porridge  ?  He  slept  in  our  barn,  and  you  played  with 
him  at  breakfast." 

"  Oh,  that's  the  man  !"  cried  Alice  ;  "  then  I'm  sure 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH-  59 

he'll  be  kind  to  us.     Dost  thirfk  he  will  speak  to  me, 
Philip?" 

"Certainly;  come  with  me  and  talk  to  him."  So 
saying,  he  led  her  into  the  presence  of  the  chief,  who 
smiled  as  she  gave  him  her  hand,  and  patting  her  upon 
the  head  as  he  would  have  caressed  a  dog,  bade  her  be 
seated  upon  a  mat  at  his  feet.  At  a  sign  from  her 
husband,  the  young  woman  brought  out  the  best  pro- 
vision of  her  simple  larder,  and  sat  them  before  their 
guest.  The  grateful  Oneyda  seemed  bent  upon  show- 
ing him  their  Indian  hospitality,  and  urgently  pressed 
him  to  eat  much  ;  but  Philip  could  scarcely  taste  the 
food  so  warmly  commended — not  being  able  to  relish 
the  mess  of  corn,  vegetable,  hommony,  and  venison, 
which  Oneyda  piled  upon  his  platter.  He  observed 
with  surprise  that  knives  and  spoons  of  English  manu- 
facture were  offered  him,  and  his  manner  of  using 
them  occasioned  astonishment  to  the  squaw,  who  re- 
garded him  with  looks  of  interest  and  curiosity. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Months  passed  away,  and  the  summer  had  reached 
*s  prime,  and  the  trees  of  the  forest  were  thick  and 
sheltering,  but  their  hues  were  changing  fast,  and 
nothing  could  be  more  beautiful  than  their  rich  and 
varied  coloring.  The  days  were  still  warm,  but  the 
mornings  were  bracing,  and  evening  came  with  its 
cool  breezes  to  refresh  the  weary  brow  of  Philip — 
wearied  of  a  life  of  comparative  idleness,  and  sad  at 
heart  under  his  long  captivity.  He  felt  it  a  present 
duty  to  appear  reconciled  to  circumstances,  as  Alice 
was  as  much  concerned  in  the  result  as  himself.  She 
had  discovered  her  importance  among  her  savage  play- 
fellows, and  had  little  difficulty  in  tutoring  them  to 
her  will,  in  all  sorts  of  games  and  pastimes.     She  had 


00  PHfLIP    RANDOLPH. 

a  particular  pleasure  ir?  being  the  object  of  their  admi- 
tion,  as  she  frequently  stood  at  the  door  of  Oneyda's 
wigwam,  with  the  baby  in  her  arms,  receiving  their 
homage  with  the  most  unembarrassed  gratification. 
But  her  affection  for  Philip  was  more  influential  than 
any  other  feeling  of  her  heart  over  her  conduct  and 
Lemper ;  and  as  he  dreaded  the  effect  of  such  associa- 
tion upon  her  impressible  character,  it  was  his  con- 
stant endeavor  to  attract  her  by  the  pleasure  of  his 
own  society  from  theirs  :  and  Alice  loved  him  too  well 
not  to  come  readily  when  he  called  her  to  the  wo'ods 
or  to  the  river-side.  Early  every  morning  he  took 
her  aside  to  say  her  prayers,  and  to  repeat  Scripture, 
but  the  keeping  of  the  sabbath  was  more  difficult  to 
accomplish.  He  frequently  repeated  to  her  upon  that 
day  the  impressive  command,  "  Remember  the  sab- 
bath day  to  keep  it  holy  ;"  and  led  her  into  the  wood 
co  pray  and  sing  psalms.  His  memory  furnished  him 
with  many  precious  stores  from  the  Bible,  and  he 
carefully  instructed  his  little  sister  in  all  that  he  him- 
self remembered.  Thus  the  sabbaths  were  felt  to  be 
happy  days  among  the  monotony  and  restraint  passed 
in  the  village.  Philip  became  a  favorite  with  all:  the 
men  felt  flattered  by  his  respect  and  attention  to  them, 
and  by  his  earnest  endeavors  to  learn  their  language  ; 
and  the  warriors  and  young  men  of  the  tribe  admired 
the  readiness  with  which  he  learned  to  manage  their 
weapons.  The  women  liked  him,  because  he  was  so 
kind  and  obliging  to  them,  performing  many  little  of- 
fices of  domestic  drudgery  which  their  husbands  and 
sons  never  condescended  to  do  for  them.  Though 
the  arrangements  of  Oneyda's  wigwam  were  superior 
to  those  of  any  other  in  the  village,  and  adorned  with 
the  spoil  of  many  a  ravaged  settlement,  the  uses  of 
these  articles  of  furniture  and  clothing  were  not  un- 
derstood by  himself  or  his  young  wife,  who,  though 
attended  on  some  occasions  by  ail  the  rude  pomp  of 
savage  rank,  was  obliged  to  perform  the  greater  part 
of  her  household  work,  though  her  dignity  exempted 
her  from  the  more  fatiguing  labors  of  the  field  and 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  61 

plantation.  Philip  taught  her  to  dispose  of  the  wood- 
en chairs  and  settles — some  of  them  well  carved  and 
polished — which  had  been  strangely  transported  to 
the  wigwam  of  an  Indian  chief;  and  the  various  im- 
provements he  made  were  so  acceptable  to  the  squaw, 
that  she  treated  him  with  great  kindness,  and  present- 
ed him  several  articles  of  clothing  for  himself  and 
Alice. 

The  weather  became  so  sultry,  as  the  summer  ad- 
vanced, that  Philip  found  his  cloth  dress  unbearable, 
and  had  thrown  it  off,  though  he  had  nothing  to  sup- 
ply its  place  but  the  light  hunting-shirt  of  the  savages, 
which  did  not  accord  very  well  with  his  dark  hose 
and  doubtlet.  The  first  day  he  appeared  in  this  mot- 
ley attire  before  Alice,  she  laughed  heartily,  and  was 
very  sure  mother  would  not  have  known  her  neat  boy, 
as  she  always  called  him.  Oneyda,  who  was  present, 
took  occasion  to  recommend  a  still  greater  transforma-, 
tion,  which  was  nothing  less  than  to  metamorphose 
Philip  into  a  young  warrior.  "  My  son  is  a  brave  ;  he 
has  the  heart  of  an  eagle  under  his  pale  skin  ;  he  shall 
wear  the  paint  of  my  young  men,  and  lead  in  the 
hunting-grounds  of  the  Wyannows  ;  the  sun  of  the 
red  man  is  hot,  it  warms  him  more  than  the  white 
man's  sun  ;  Philip  shall  look  as  brave  as  he  is." 

Poor  Philip  was  most  unwilling  either  to  look  or 
act  the  part  of  a  brave,  but  the  chief  would  take  no 
refusal,  and  upon  this  occasion  manifested  the  high 
and  resolved  tone  of  command  which  he  had  before 
used  to  rescue  his  -protege  from  ^e  thirsty  knives  of 
his  warriors.  His  will  was  law,  ana  i,  j  did  not  conde- 
scend to  express  it  twice.  With  his  own  hands  he 
painted  and  dressed  Philip,  who  was  so  disguised  that 
even  Alice  would  not  have  recognised  him,  but  for  the 
*hick  clustering  curls  which  adorned  his  ample  fore- 
heau,  and  mc  pieasanr  voice  01  wnich  ne  always  ad- 
dressed her.  He  had  lost  the  long  shining  locks  which 
his  mother  had  thought  so  beautiful,  but  would  not 
permit  Oneyda  to  shave  his  head.  He  was  the  more 
reconciled  to  the  change  in  his  attire,  from  finding  it 
6 


62  PHrLIP    RANDOLPH. 

lighter  and  cooler  than  his  cloth  jerkin,  and  his  limbs 
were  more  free.  Altogether,  the  effect  was  so  good 
that  he  found  himself  an  object  of  much  admiration  to 
the  Indians ;  and  if  their  compliments  could  have 
atoned  for  his  captivity,  Philip  had  felt  happier  on 
that  day  than  he  had  done  for  three  months  past :  but 
as  he  folded  up  his  rejected  attire,  he  could  not  for- 
bear sighing  deeply,  and  acknowledged  that  now  he 
had  filled  up  the  measure  of  his  misfortunes,  and  made 
himself  more  than  ever  their  prisoner,  by  thus  assimi- 
lating his  external  condition  to  theirs.  Yet,  upon 
calmer  reflection,  he  felt  a  degree  of  solid  consolation 
in  the  recollection,  that,  though  in  appearance  he 
might  be  as  savage  as  his  captors,  his  inward  being 
was  stamped  with  a  different  impress,  as  distinguish- 
ing as  light  from  darkness.  As  Philip  drew  the  con- 
trast between  his  own  character  and  attainments  and 
those  of  his  present  associates,  his  heart  relented  of 
many  of  its  proud  and  seif-gratulating  thoughts,  and 
he  became  humbled  under  a  deep  sense  of  his  own 
responsibility.  Having  been  blessed  with  so  many  and 
great  advantages,  it  was  his  duty  to  regard  their  defi- 
ciencies charitably,  and  also  to  endeavor  to  lead  them 
to  a  better  and  safer  mode  of  life.  But  was  it  possible 
for  him — a  helpless  prisoner,  ignorant  of  their  lan- 
guage, and  detesting  their  customs — to  effect  anything 
for  their  permanent  good  ?  If  such  might  be  the  re- 
sult, he  should  never  regret  having  been  torn  from 
home  and  kindred  ;  and  the  suggestion  infused  new 
energy  into  his  mind.  He  resolved  to  cultivate  every 
occasion  that  should  present  itself  to  this  end,  and 
went  forth  from  the  wigwam  of  Oneyda  to  mingle  in 
the  sports  of  his  young  companions,  with  the  calm 
and  settled  purpose  of  a  benevolent  heart. 

In  pursuance  of  his  intention  to  gain  information  of 
Indian  life  and  customs,  Philip  went  much  among 
them,  and  was  always  treated  kindly  by  the  people  of 
the  village,  who  regarded  the  protege  of  their  powerful, 
chief  as  a  friend,  and  one  to  whom  they  were  bound 
to  pay  the  most  hospitable  attention.     In  many  of 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  63 

these  visits  Alice  accompanied  him,  for  he  liked  to 
hear  her  simple  and  often  acute  remarks  upon  all  she 
saw  in  the  strange  scenes  to  which  he  introduced  her. 
One  evening  about  sunset,  they  heard  mournful  cries 
from  a  number  of  women  collected  at  the  door  of  a 
hut,  and  Philip  stopped  to  inquire  the  cause.  They 
made  way  for  him  to  pass,  but  he  bade  Alice  wait  for 
him  while  he  went  on  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  such 
distress.  A  young  man,  apparently  in  the  last  stage 
of  consumption,  and  almost  insensible,  lay  upon  a 
mat ;  two  conjurers  were  exercising  all  their  arts  to 
recall  him,  and  as  these  consisted  chiefly  in  shaking 
over  the  prostrate  sufferer  a  variety  of  charmed  snake- 
skins  and  bear-skins,  Philip  much  feared  that  suffoca- 
tion would  be  the  speedy  result.  The  patient  was 
passive  from  weakness  or  insensibility,  but  his  long- 
drawn  respirations  attested  his  struggles  and  need  of 
fresh  air.  While  his  tormentors  were  performing 
their  antics,  his  aged  father  and  brothers  stood  upright 
against  the  rude  wall  of  the  wigwam  with  fixed  and 
resolute  countenances,  their  feet  close  together,  and 
their  arms  folded.  The  eye  of  the  old  man  alone  be- 
tokened sense  or  emotion  betraying  the  inward  strife 
of  nature  with  stoicism  :  it  glanced  restlessly  from  his 
dying  son  to  the  conjurers,  as  if  to  chide  their  mock- 
ery or  want  of  skill,  but  he  spoke  not.  Philip  gazed 
compassionately  upon  all,  and  turned  sadly  away, 
aware  of  his  inability  to  relieve  or  prevent  the  catas- 
trophe so  speedily  approaching. 

He  led  Alice  from  the  spot,  and  hastened  to  Oney- 
da's  dwelling.  The  following  morning,  when  Philip 
entered  the  wigwam  to  breakfast,  he  found  Oneyda 
busily  engaged  in  painting  a  number  of  black  and 
white  lines  upon  his  arms  and  legs  ;  his  plume  was 
resumed,  and  an  attendant  Indian  presented  him  with 
two  or  three  additional  black  feathers,  and  assisted  his 
.  chief  in  the  disposition  of  a  few  of  his  arms,  some  of 
"which,  being  of  English  manufacture,  neither  of  them 
knew  how  to  wear.  However,  when  his  toilet  was 
completed,  Oneyda  looked  and  moved  a  savage,  and 


64  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

Philip  could  not  glance  at  him  without  a  shudder. 
The  chief  explained  that  they  were  about  to  bury  a 
warrior,  and  gave  orders  to  his  attendant  to  draw  the 
same  lines  upon  Philip,  who  did  not  venture  to  re- 
fuse ;  and  as  the  process  was  shorter,  he  was  soon  re- 
leased. When  their  morning  meal  was  concluded,  he 
accompanied  Oneyda  to  the  burial-ground  which  he 
had  visited  on  the  preceding  evening. 

Many  warriors  were  already  assembled,  and  the 
chief  took  the  place  of  honor  among  them.  The  old 
men  stood  with  downcast  looks,  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  the  dead.  At  length  a  mournful  train  appeared  : 
the  body  of  the  young  man  Philip  had  visited  lay  upon 
a  bier,  borne  by  six  of  the  stoutest  youths  ;  his  broth- 
ers followed,  but  not  with  the  step  of  mourners  ;  they 
walked  firmly  and  erect,  without  paint  or  weapons, 
but  as  proudly  as  if  they  were  accompanying  some 
triumphal  procession  rather  than  the  body  of  a  broth- 
er to  an  early  grave.  The  father  had  already  taken 
his  post  among  the  group  of  old  men,  undistinguished 
from  them  by  any  outward  mark  of  sorrow  ;  but  as 
the  young  men  sat  down  the  bier,  he  gazed  fixedly 
upon  the  countenance  of  the  dead.  Worn  by  suffer- 
ing, and  emaciated  by  disease,  the  shrunk  and  wasted 
form  contrasted  sadly  with  the  arms  and  ornaments 
which  so  profusely  decked  its  rigid  limbs,  and  seemed 
but  the  mockery  of  life  in  death.  But  now  a  party 
of  girls  approached,  strewing  flowers  fresh  gathered 
from  the  hillside,  spangled  with  the  dew  of  early 
morning,  and  scattering  them  abundantly  upon  the 
bier  and  corpse.  One  of  them  addressed  the  dead 
warrior  as  if  entreating  him  to  return  :  she  tore  her 
long  black  hair,  and  clasped  her  hands,  and  wept  and 
screamed  in  her  frantic  energy  ;  then,  as  if  upbraiding 
him  for  his  silence,  turned  away  with  a  haughty  air 
and  flashing  eye.  Again  she  approached,  and  again 
bent  over  him,  addressed  to  his  lifeless  ear  tones  of 
exquisite  tenderness,  and  seemed  to  entreat  his  return 
with  the  gentleness  of  most  patient  affection  ;  then,  as 
if  she  had  found  all  unavailing,  she  drew  back  and  re- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  65 

joined  her  companions  :  they  commenced  a  chant,  in 
which  the  praises  of  the  youthful  warrior  were  sung — 
his  swiftness  in  the  race,  his  skill  in  the  hunt,  his 
valor  in  the  fight,  and  his  vengeance  at  the  torture- 
stake. 

Oneyda  next  addressed  the  assembly.  His  manner 
was  by  no  means  so  urgent  as  when  he  pleaded  for 
Philip's  safety  ;  and  after  speaking  for  a  short  time  in 
a  cold  and  monotonous  strain,  he  returned  to  his 
place.  All  eyes  were  now  turned  to  the  father  of  the 
young  man,  who  answered  the  appeal  by  slowly  quit- 
ting his  station  among  the  elders  of  the  tribe,  and  tot- 
tered rather  than  walked  to  the  foot  of  the  bier.  He 
regarded  the  inanimate  face  of  his  son  for  some  mo- 
ments earnestly  and  in  silence  :  the  muscles  of  his 
throat  were  seen  to  work  convulsively,  as  if  essaying 
to  do  their  office,  but  in  vain  ;  and  he  bent  forward 
from  momentary  weakness;  but  however  powerful 
might  be  the  pleadings  of  natural  grief  within  the  fa- 
ther's heart,  the  stern  requirements  of  a  barbarous  cus- 
tom prevailed.  It  was  his  duty  to  relate  the  actions 
of  his  son — of  the  wounds  he  had  received  in  battle, 
of  the  scalps  he  had  won,  of  the  captives  he  had  made, 
of  the  scars  he  had  brought  home,  and  how  long  he 
had  struggled  with  death.  The  old  man  found  voice 
for  all  this,  and  went  through  the  recital  unhesitating- 
ly till  he  came  to  the  farewell  address,  which  the  fu- 
neral rites  prescribed  as  the  best  dismissal  of  the  dead 
to  his  new  and  last  abode.  Then  his  voice  faltered, 
gradually  losing  its  power  and  pathos  till  it  reached  a 
faint  shrillness,  when,  at  length  totally  overcome  by 
emotion,  the  aged  and  heart-broken  father  abruptly 
buried  his  face  in  his  mantle  and  retired. 


66  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 


CHAPTER  X. 

How  sad  was  Philip  to  lose  the  sunny  days  of  au- 
tumn, the  rich  bright  coloring  of  the  woods,  and  the 
balmy  air  of  the  Indian  summer!  How  would  he  lin- 
ger in  an  evening  with  Alice  by  his  side  upon  the 
banks  of  the  stream,  and  watch  the  sun  set — to  mark 
every  cloud  that  moved  across  the  gorgeous  sky,  clus- 
tering at  length  in  such  brilliant  masses  round  the 
west !  Some  youths  of  his  age  would  have  worn 
themselves  out  in  vain  repinings  and  discontent ;  but, 
though  Philip  yearned  for  the  rest  of  heaven,  he 
blamed  himself  for  desiring  anything  which  it  was 
manifestly  not  the  will  of  God  that  he  should  have  ; 
and,  with  the  help  of  God,  he  determined  to  submit 
cheerfully  and  resignedly  to  all  that  might  befall  him. 
He  returned  to  the  wigwam  on  the  evening  of  his 
seventeenth  birthday,  after  such  reflections  as  these, 
strengthened  for  duty,  and  comforted  in  mind,  though 
the  day  had  commenced  sadly,  bringing  with  it  so 
many  dear  associations  of  his  home  and  parents,  and 
the  fond  recollection  of  his  mother  in  particular, 
whose  kind  voice  had  always  greeted  him  on  awaking 
with  words  of  love  and  solicitude. 

But  thoughts  of  home  were  to  be  banished  by  a 
hunt,  and  Philip  anticipated  a  degree  of  pleasure  from 
change  of  scene  and  occupation,  as  Oneyda  had  in- 
vited him  to  accompany  them  in  their  intended  excur- 
sion to  the  prairies.  On  setting  out,  Philip  gave 
Alice  a  strict  charge  to  devote  herself  to  the  baby  and 
Meeahmee,  which  she  promised  to  do  ;  and  though 
she  looked  pensive  for  a  few  seconds  after  receiving 
his  parting  kiss,  when  he  looked   back  he  saw  her 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  67 

laughing  merrily  at  his  expense  ;  for,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed, Philip's  attire  rendered  his  whole  appearance 
rather  grotesque.  He  answered  her  laugh  by  a  smile 
and  wave  of  the  hand,  and  was  soon  lost  to  sight, 
though  she  stood  looking  toward  the  wood  into  which 
the  party  had  plunged  with  the  eager  activity  of  men 
who  are  just  commencing  an  agreeable  expedition. 

The  party  consisted  of  fifteen  or  twenty  persons, 
and  each  was  provided  with  arrows  and  long  spears 
pointed  with  flint,  more  than  one  pair  of  moccasins, 
and  a  quantity  of  parched  corn.  The  chief  talked 
much  to  his  followers,  laying  aside  his  usual  dignity 
of  demeanor  for  the  familiar  tone  and  manner  of  a 
companion.  Nothing  could  be  more  musical  than 
his  laughter,  or  more  animated  than  his  countenance 
in  conversation,  or  more  playful  than  his  sallies, 
which  were  received  with  undisguised  raptures  by  the 
rest,  who  seemed  delighted  to  converse  thus  freely 
with  their  leader,  and  threw  aside  all  their  reserve 
and  indifference,  though  none  stepped  beyond  the 
line  of  deference  so  strongly  defined  by  their  relative 
stations.  Philip  had  often  heard  of  the  obedience  of 
the  Indian  tribes  to  their  sachems  and  wise  men,  but 
he  felt  much  surprise  at  the  invariable  submission 
manifested  by  the  Wyannows  for  their  chief,  resem- 
bling rather  the  tutored  deference  of  courtiers  than 
the  discipline  of  native  warriors.  Oneyda's  manner 
had  also  on  many  occasions  indicated  the  conscious- 
ness of  power  with  the  tone  and  spirit  of  a  despot. 
He  was  certainly  of  high  rank,  and  Philip  was  curi- 
ous to  know  his  real  position  and  office,  and  especially 
his  relations  with  English  Virginia. 

They  marched  westward  and  pursued  the  course 
of  the  stream,  keeping  upon  its  wooded  banks  as  long 
as  the  path  permitted ;  gradually,  however,  the  trees 
thickened  on  both  sides,  and  they  went  farther  into 
the  forest ;  but  Philip  had  yet  to  learn  the  wandering 
and  capricious  plan  of  an  Indian  journey.  They 
were  not  long  in  the  wood,  but  emerged  from  it  rather 
suddenly  by  a  by-path   upon  the  banks  of  a  river 


68  PHTLTP    RANDOLPH. 

whose  current  was  so  rapid  that  Philip  could  not  sup- 
pose it  to  be  the  same  as  that  they  had  just  quitted 
Here  the  party  lowered  the  bark  canoes  which  they 
had  borne  upon  their  shoulders,  and  launched  them  ; 
two  entered  at  a  time  into  each  boat,  and  Oneyda 
beckoned  to  Philip  to  come  with  him.  The  invita- 
tion was  gladly  accepted,  though  he  felt  some  alarm 
upon  rinding  himself  for  the  first  time  in  such  a  mere 
cockle-shell;  but  slight  as  these  rude  barks  appeared, 
they  skimmed  over  the  surface  of  the  turbulent  wa- 
ters, to  which  they  were  better  suited  than  boats  of 
heavier  construction.  They  flew  with  extraordinary 
swiftness,  and  a  few  strokes  of  One}rda*s  arm  impelled 
his  canoe  with  a  velocity  which  carried  it  far  ahead 
of  its  companions. 

The  chief  looked  inquiringly  into  his  protege's 
face,  as  if  to  ascertain  what  he  thought  of  his  novel 
position;  and  it  was  so  new  that  Philip  could  not 
conceal  the  emotions  of  surprise  and  apprehension 
which  it  occasioned  ;  but  these  feelings  changed  to 
awe  and  admiration  at  the  scenery  which  presented 
itself  at  every  turn.  The  canoes  bounded  lightly  over 
the  small  cataracts  that  sparkled  in  their  way,  until 
they  approached  the  head  of  a  rapid.  Oneyda  rose 
and  guided  the  boat  skilfully  to  the  top  of  the  fall, 
then,  suddenly  sinking,  grasped  its  sides,  and  in  an  in- 
stant they  were  precipitated.  The  little  vessel  soon 
regained  its  equilibrium  and  the  chief  resumed  his 
oar.  Philip  was  much  surprised  as  he  measured  the 
height  of  the  rapid,  and  it  alarmed  him  more  to  see 
the  canoes  in  their  wake  falling  with  such  amazing 
rapidity  down  the  same  descent.  Oneyda  was  too 
busy  guiding  and  managing  his  canoe  to  talk  to  his 
companion,  but  at  length,  when  the  chief  paused  in 
his  exertions,  Philip  ventured  to  ask  him  a  few  ques- 
tions respecting  the  country  and  the  people  to  whom 
it  belonged. 

Oneyda's  lip  curled  at  the  latter  inquiry,  and  his 
gaze  dwelt  proudly  upon  the  magnificent  scene,  as  he 
replied  :  **  The  land  of  the  sun  is  the  land  of  the  red 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  69 

man ;  my  fathers  hunted  from  the  great  salt  lake  to 
the  place  where  night  is;  they  followed  the  chase 
from  the  shores  of  the  big  river  to  the  hills  where  the 
sun  sleeps,  every  night:  and  their  children  are  free; 
they  kill  the  deer  in  the  woods,  where  the  pale-face 
dwells,  and  the  buffaloes  on  the  prairies ;  and  none 
say  the  land  is  mine.  Why  does  my  son  ask  if  the 
land  is  ours?  we  hunt  where  we  will." 

"  You  sold  your  land  to  the  white  man,  did  you  not  ?" 

Oneyda  answered  in  a  tone  of  disdain :  "  Our  fathers 
never  lived  long  by  the  shores  of  the  salt  lake,  for  they 
loved  not  those  flat  shores ;  they  were  warriors  and 
hunters,  and  left  their  land  to  the  pale-face  ;  their 
heart  was  in  the  forest  and  on  the  prairies ;  Oneyda 
never  took  their  presents." 

Philip  saw  plainly  that  the  Indian  would  scorn  to 
acknowledge  any  obligation  between  his  race  and  the 
pale-face;  he  therefore  changed  the  subject.  The 
chief  seemed  pleased  with  the  courtesy,  and  gave 
various  rude  sketches  of  the  history  of  his  people, 
though  the  language  was  often  so  figurative  as  to  be 
totally  incomprehensible.  But  Oneyda  was  gratified 
at  the  interest  of  his  young  friend,  and  cordiality  and 
intimacy  were  gradually  ripening  into  confidence  and 
affection. 

Encouraged  by  Oneyda's  affability,  Philip  ventured 
to  say,  "  Oneyda,  were  you  of  the  party  that  destroyed 
my  home  and  drove  my  father  from  his  dwelling?" 

The  Indian  turned  his  head  haughtily  away  like 
one  who  was  not  accustomed  to  be  interrogated  ;  but 
Philip  remarked  that  his  breast  seemed  heaving  with 
irrepressible  emotion,  and  it  was  some  moments  ere 
he  replied,  in  a  tone  of  sadness  and  with  an  air  of  in- 
jured dignity  :  "  When  Oneyda  ate  bread  and  drank 
water  with  your  father  he  spoke  words  of  friendship. 
An  Indian  will  not  sleep  in  the  wigwam  of  the  white 
man  and  take  his  scalp  on  the  morrow.  My  young 
men  did  foolishly ;  they  knew  not  the  resting-place 
of  their  sachem." 

**  Then  you  would  have  hindered  that  massacre  had 


70  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

you  been  there ;  yet  why  should  your  young  men 
have  been  without  a  leader — they  should  surely  have 
waited  for  their  chief?" 

Oneyda  bent  such  a  gaze  of  scrutiny  and  severity 
upon  the  youth  that  Philip's  eye  sank  under  it  for  a 
moment ;  but  he  recovered  his  self-possession  and 
said  firmly;  "  Oneyda,  you  are  a  brave  chief,  and  will 
not  be  angry  if  I  ask  you  that  question  again,  for  I 
have  long  wished  to  know  by  whose  authority  I  was 
torn  from  my  home  ?" 

"  We  talk  of  these  things  at  the  council  fire,"  re- 
plied the  Indian,  gravely,  "  and  why  should  my  son 
ask  ?  When  the  hatchet  of  the  warrior  tastes  blood 
it  cries  for  more ;  and  why  should  my  young  men 
stay  their  hand  ?  They  knew  not  that  their  sachem 
had  a  friend  among  their  enemies,  and  why  should 
they  not  strike  ?" 

Philip  shuddered,  but  quickly  answered  :  "  If  you 
count  my  father  your  friend,  then  I  know  you  were 
not  of  that  war  party  ;  but,  Oneyda,  since  you  would 
have  spared  his  dwelling  had  you  been  there,  why 
will  you  not  send  me  home  to  him  ?  He  thinks  me 
dead,  let  me  then  return  to  tell  him  what  a  friend  you 
have  been  to  me." 

"  If  your  white  father  thinks  you  dead,"  said  the 
subtle  savage,  "  he  will  not  look  for  your  return.  No, 
Philip  shall  stay  and  be  Oneyda's  son." 

The  tears  gushed  forth  from  Philip's  eyes.  "Oh 
no  !"  he  cried,  "I  can  never  become  one  of  you." 

Oneyda  looked  surprised  and  offended.  "  When 
my  son  was  at  the  torture-stake,  who  saved  him  from 
the  knives  of  his  enemies — who  told  my  old  men  he 
was  a  brave — who  has  given  him  food  and  brought 
him  into  his  wigwam — who  will  make  him  a  great 
warrior  ?  Philip  shall  be  Oneyda's  son  ;x  Oneyda  is 
a  great  chief;  his  enemies  have  never  followed  on  his 
track  in  the  forest,  and  who  ever  saw  him  in  the 
white  man's  arm?  From  the  swift  river  to  the  dark 
lakes  Oneyda  is  a  chief,  and  no  one  disputes  his  will ; 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  71 

Philip  shall  be  his  son,  and  the  eagle  of  his  tribe  will 
be  his  father.     Has  not  Oneyda  given  him  life  ?" 

Philip  could  have  reminded  him  that  he  too  had 
probably  saved  his  life  when  he  took  him  starving  and 
wounded  to  his  father's  dwelling,  but  was  too  gener- 
ous to  recall  an  obligation  to  another.  Giving  a  few 
rapid  strokes  with  the  oar,  the  chief  caused  his  little 
boat  to  shoot  far  a-head  of  its  companions,  and  when 
he  thought  himself  beyond  their  observation,  he  laid 
a  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  his  captive  and  said,  in  a 
satirical  tone,  and  with  a  gesture  of  contempt :  "  Can 
a  brave  weep  ?  Women  only  weep !  My  young 
men  will  despise  their  brother  if  they  see  his  tears. 
Philip  is  Oneyda's  son,  and  the  great  chief  loves  him, 
though  he  can  not  let  him  go  ;  what  would  my  war- 
riors say  if  their  sachem  lied  ?  No,  he  said  the  boy 
is  brave — he  shall  live,  he  shall  be  a  great  chief,  and 
he  shall  lead  us  against  the  pale  faces  ;  the  great  king 
shall  tremble  when  he  hears  this.  But  what  would 
my  warriors  say,  if  Oneyda  sent  back  the  brave  white 
boy  ?  They  would  plunge  their  knives  into  his  heart 
that  he  might  not  die  like  a  coward." 

"  Think  not,  Oneyda,  that  I  will  ever  lead  your 
people  against  my  own  ;  never  will  I  yield  to  your 
cruel  expectations,"  said  Philip,  whose  anger  was 
now  kindled  by  indignation  at  this  last  specimen  of 
savage  craft.  The  eye  of  the  Indian  gleamed  fiercely, 
and  his  hand  instinctively  relinquished  the  oar  and 
grasped  a  weapon.  "  Kill  me,  then,"  said  Philip, 
passionately,  "kill  me  at  once,  for  I  would  rather  die 
than  live  in  such  hopeless  captivity.  Cruel,  barbarous 
wretch!" 

Oneyda  looked  calmly,  though  with  sternness,  up- 
on the  boy,  and  recovered  his  oar. — "  No,  no,  he  is 
mine,"  he  muttered. 

Long  did  Philip  struggle  with  the  tide  of  grief  and 
passion  that  oppressed  his  heart,  but  when  the  shad- 
ows of  evening  drew  closer  and  his  now  detested  com- 
panions lay  down  to  rest,  he  turned  aside,  and,  as  was 
his  custom,  knelt  down  to  his  evening  prayer.     "I 


72  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

have  done  what  I  ought  not  to  have  done  !"  he  ex- 
claimed, and  tears  of  penitence  mingled  with  those  of 
self-upbraiding  and  sorrow  ;  and  presently  he  rose 
with  a  heart  lightened  of  half  its  burden,  though  still 
humble  and  pensive  ;  his  feelings  toward  his  compan- 
ions assumed  a  more  charitable  and  forgiving  character, 
and  he  overcame  his  repugnance  so  far  as  to  take  his 
station  among  them,  and  even  to  close  his  eyes  in  the 
vicinity  of  Oneyda,  and  with  his  own  shoulder  in  con- 
tact with  that  of  a  savage.  He  lay  down  but  could 
not  sleep,  and  knowing  that  they  all  took  singular 
pleasure  in  hearing  him  sing,  he  raised  his  voice  in 
the  evening  hymn  he  had  so  often  sung  at  home,  and 
though  he  faltered,  the  melody  made  its  way  to 
Oneyda's  heart,  for  he  drew  nearer  and  requested 
Philip  to  sing  more.  While  thus  engaged,  he 
thought  he  discerned  some  object  emerging  from  the 
branches  on  their  sylvan  hearth,  and  presently  dis- 
tinguished the  writhing  and  shining  body  of  a  large 
snake,  which  had  probably  lain  torpid  among  them  till 
awakened  to  consciousness  by  the  heat. 

The  dangerous  reptile  was  within  a  yard  of  the 
naked  leg  of  a  young  Indian.  Philip  sprang  lightly 
from  the  ground,  and  dexterously  seizing  it  below  the 
head,  with  one  blow  of  his  hatchet  destroyed  it  ere 
another  could  interfere.  Oneyda  looked  on  with 
much  admiration,  and  the  young  savage,  rising,  thank- 
ed Philip  with  many  expressions  of  gratitude.  The 
snake  was  examined  and  found  to  be  of  a  most  dan- 
gerous species ;  but  the  incident  caused  no  further 
commotion  among  the  party,  whose  loud  breathings 
now  greatly  disturbed  Philip,  who  found  it  very  diffi- 
cult to  sleep  in  the  woods  at  night.  These  sounds 
were  also  accompanied  by  the  notes  of  the  whip-poor- 
Will  and  the  cry  of  another  bird  which  was  very 
plaintive,  and  made  him  feel  sadder.  The  bird  was 
evidently  near  them,  and  its  note  awakened  Oneyda, 
who  had  sunk  into  slumber.  He  started,  and,  turning 
to  Philip  in  his  usually  confidential  manner,  said,  in  a 
tone  of  mystery,  "  That  bird  sings  of  death  to  the  In- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  73 

dian;  he  comes  to  tell  him  that  a  warrior  must  soon 
go  to  the  happy  hunting  grounds.  My  brother  had 
been  on  his  way  before  the  sun  wakes  if  Phiiip  had 
not  used  the  hatchet  of  the  brave." 

"Your  brother!  is  that  young  man  your  brother, 
then  ?" 

"  Appomax  is  my  brother,  and  he  is  a  young  war- 
rior. He  can  bring  down  the  flying  birds,  and  knows 
where  the  deer  hide.  Philip  and  Appomax  are  the 
sons  of  the  great  chief  of  the  Wyannows." 

In  the  morning  they  once  more  took  to  their  cano.es, 
and  the  chief's  brother  rowed  by  their  side,  talking 
animatedly  with  him,  frequently  regarding  Philip  with 
an  admiring  eye.  With  this  young  man's  manners 
and  appearance  Philip  was  much  pleased,  as  they 
were  less  ferocious  and  much  more  gentle  and  modest 
than  those  of  his  nation  generally.  This  day's  sail 
was  altogether  more  agreeable  than  that  of  the  pre- 
ceding, and  Oneyda  evidently  condescended  to  concil- 
iate his. protege,  who  felt,  in  consequence,  less  miser- 
able. In  the  afternoon  they  reached  a  spot  whose 
principal  feature  astonished  Philip  more  than  anything 
he  had  yet  seen  ;  for  a  lofty  bridge  appeared  in  view* 
thrown  across  the  river  by  a  single  though  imperfecfi 
arch.  Being  the  first  bridge  he  had  ever  seen,  he  felt 
surprised  that  that  one  should  be  of  Indian  architect- 
ure. He  could  not  imagine  how  it  had  been  built, 
much  less  how  it  should  ever  have  been  projected  by 
savages  ;  and  the  more  he  examined  it  the  more  won- 
derful it  appeared.  He  longed  to  take  a  nearer  view ; 
this,  however,  he  feared  was  not  to  be  allowed  him, 
as  the  river  became  more  turbulent  in  its  course,  and 
having  ventured  as  far  as  they  dared,  the  savages  step- 
ped ashore  and  drew  up  their  canoes  after  them. 
Philip  congratulated  himself  when  he  saw  that  they 
took  the  direction  of  the  bridge,  and,  carrying  Oney- 
da's  boat  upon  his  shoulder,  followed  their  steps  with 
alacrity.  He  soon  had  leisure  to  examine  the  object 
of  his  curiosity  more  minutely.  It  was  high  enough 
above  the  water  to  form  a  bold  object  in  a.  scene  of 
7 


74  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

wild  grandeur,  and  as  the  party  in  advance  approached 
the  supports  they  looked  like  pigmies  in  comparison. 
The  bridge  was  formed  of  a  very  irregular  arch,  but 
strong  and  massy  in  its  construction.  Shrubs,  and 
even  trees,  hung  over  it ;  the  base  was  of  solid  rock, 
much  broken,  and  covered  with  beautiful  festoons  of 
the  Virginian  creeper,  which  hung  down  in  graceful 
wreaths  of  many  a  brilliant  hue,  mingling  its  gay  col- 
ors with  the  tawny  foliage  of  other  trees  and  the  rich 
mosses  with  which  these  rugged  bulwarks  were  cov- 
ered. Philip  stood  gazing  in  silent  admiration — he 
could  not  guess  its  height. 

"  Who  built  that  bridge  ?"  he  asked  of  Oneyda, 
who  was  standing  near  him  in  contemplation  of  the 
same  magnificent  object. 

Oneyda  replied,  with  much  reverence  of  tone  and 
manner  :  "  The  Great  Spirit  made  the  woods  and  the 
water  for  the  red  man,  and  gave  him  the  great  path 
over  the  river.     My  people  say  that  He  made  it." 

"  Then  it  must  be  a  natural  bridge,"  cried  Philip, 
springing  forward  to  examine  it  more  nearly.  He 
scrambled  down  the  rocks  till  he  reached  the  river, 
and  endeavored  to  stand  beneath  the  arch,  but  could 
not ;  he  was  therefore  obliged  to  return  without  the 
satisfaction  of  examining  its  roof  and  sides,  and  soon 
rejoined  his  companions. 

Their  route  now  lay  across  the  top  of  the  bridge, 
and  Philip  noticed  that  the  rock  of  which  it  was  com- 
posed was  even  more  worn  in  the  exposed  parts  than 
in  the  sides  and  base,  but  could  not  account  for  the 
manner  in  which  it  had  assumed  its  picturesque  and 
magnificent  form.  He  felt  pleasure  in  looking  down 
upon  the  rushing  river  from  this  platform.  The  fig- 
ures of  the  Indians  were  less  unpleasing  to  him  in 
this  scene  of  wild  grandeur,  and  he  thought  he  had 
never  before  realized  the  freedom  and  solitude  of  na- 
ture or  its  suitability  to  savage  life,  so  much  as  iu 
those  almost  unvisited  retreats.  His  imagination  be- 
came engaged,  and  for  some  hours  he  walked  on 
without  fatigue,  his  mind  impressed  the  while  with 
the  novel  and  beautiful  objects  thus  presented. 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  75 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  morning  sun  rose  brightly  on  the  open  prairie, 
and  the  first  object  which  greeted  the  sleepy  eye  of 
Philip  was  its  large  and  glowing  orb  magnified  by 
proximity  to  the  horizon,  from  which  it  seemed  burst- 
ing, as  if  about  to  roll  over  the  majestic  plain.  Philip 
retired  to  the  privacy  of  the  wood  to  attend  the  better 
to  his  devotions  ;  for  these  he  never  neglected  under 
any  circumstances,  nor  had  he  assumed  the  habits  of 
an  Indian  with  the  dress  of  one. 

Though  Philip  used  all  speed,  he  was  much  later 
than  the  hunters  approved.  Whether  Oneyda's  curi- 
osity got  the  better  of  his  consideration,  or  thinking 
his  favorite  had  been  long  enough,  he  at  length  went 
to  seek  him.  Philip  had  just  concluded  his  prayer, 
and  paused  ere  he  rose  from  his  knees  ;  then  rising* 
he  resumed  his  weapons  with  a  sigh,  and  turned  to 
leave  his  retreat,  when,  to  his  surprise,  he  beheld 
Oneyda  standing  at  a  little  distance,  and  doubted  not 
that  he  had  been  a  witness  of  his  devotions.  The 
chief  returned  his  expression  of  surprise  with  a  look 
of  cold  scrutiny,  and  if  he  had  not  felt  embarrassed 
and  distracted  by  this  intrusion  he  might  have  dis- 
covered traces  of  ill-concealed  wonder  upon  the  fea- 
tures of  the  almost  noble-looking  savage. 

"  My  young  men  are  swift  hunters  ;  they  wait ;  they 
ask  for  my  son.  Will  he  stay  upon  his  knees  all  day, 
like  the  bear  that  creeps?  The  Great  Spirit  loves  a 
good  hunter  ;  he  hates  the  idle.  Does  my  son  listen 
for  the  tramp  of  the  buffalo  upon  the  leaves  of  his 
hiding-place  ?" 

"Oneyda,"  replied  Philip,  gravely,  "my  God  will 


76  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

not  bless  me  or  do  me  any  good  this  day  if  I  do  not 
ask  him.  He  is  a  great  and  holy  Spirit,  who  is  not 
so  much  pleased  with  the  customs  you  think  are 
pleasing  to  him  as  with  humility  and  obedience  to  his 
commands." 

The  savage  interrupted  him  with  an  exclamation 
of  surprise,  and  not  comprehending  Philip's  explana- 
tion, asked,  "If  Wacondah  were  not  the  Great  Spirit 
of  the  pale  faces  ?" 

*'  No,  Oneyda  !  you  have  never  heard  that  great 
name.  The  God  whom  we  worship  is  he  who  made 
the  earth,  the  red  man  and  the  white  ;  he  is  called  the 
Lord  Almighty  !"  and  with  habitual  reverence  Philip 
bowed  as  he  spoke. 

"  My  son  speaks  low,"  replied  Oneyda,  laying  his 
hand  on  the  youth's  shoulder,  unconsciously  awed  by 
his  solemnity  of  manner.  "  Does  Philip  think  that 
the  red  man  and  the  white  man  have  the  same  Great 
Father?  Go,  go!  my  son  is  very  proud;  he  says 
there  is  only  one  Father  of  life;  but  the  Indian  has 
Wacondah,  and  the  white  man  has  his  God." 

Philip  did  not  pursue  the  conversation,  but  rejoiced 
that  Oneyda  remembered  even  the  name  he  was  so 
anxious  to  teach  him.  The  savage  turned  to  depart, 
saying  :  "  My  son  shall  tell  me  of  his  God  in  the  long 
nights  when  the  snow  is  round  the  wigwam  of  Oney- 
da.    My  young  men  wait ;  let  us  go." 

The  party  set  forth,  and  all  seemed  sensible  of  the 
freshness  of  the  air  and  the  agreeable  elasticity  of  the 
atmosphere.  Travelling  farther  west,  they  often 
halted  to  listen  if  there  were  sounds  upon  the  plain; 
but  though  every  heart  was  beating  high  in  expecta- 
tion of  their  dangerous  sport,  no  countenance  betrayed 
the  slightest  symptom  of  disappointment  or  of  im- 
patience. Oneyda  walked  among  his  warriors  as  a 
familiar  friend,  talking  animatedly;  but  suddenly  the 
chief  paused  and  stood  still  ;  their  mirth  ceased,  and 
they  also  stopped,  while  Oneyda  bent  toward  the 
earth  and  then  lay  flat  among  the  grass  for  a  few  sec- 
onds with  his  ear  to  th  e  ground,  as  if  listening  very 


PHrLTP    RANDOLPH.  77 

intently.  His  acute  sense  of  hearing  had  not  de- 
ceived him,  for  presently  a  cloud  of  dust  ai  j>se  in  a 
corner  of  the  horizon  and  extended  over  that  side  of 
the  plain.  It  appeared  to  be  approaching  them  rapid- 
ly. The  Indians  threw  themselves  down,  and  Philip 
followed  their  example.  The  cloud  which  had  been 
seen  in  the  distance  came  nearer  and  nearer  ;  a  noise 
resembling  thunder  was  heard,  and  then  a  mighty 
trampling.  Hundreds  of  buffaloes  were  on  the  plain, 
racing  over  its  untrodden  grasses  in  all  the  freedom  of 
their  reckless  natures,  wild  and  savage  as  the  scenes 
through  which  they  roamed  as  sole  proprietors. 

On  they  came  tossing  their  heads,  jostling  one  an- 
other, shaking  their  huge  flanks,  and  bellowing  loud- 
ly. The  effect  was  terrific  and  stunning.  Philip 
peeped  through  the  gtass  and  obtained  a  view  of  the 
herd  which  was  now  approaching ;  his  heart  beat 
quickly,  and  he  closed  his  eyes  with  a  sudden  sensa- 
tion of  faintness;  but  recovering,  took  courage  and 
re-opened  them,  impelled  by  an  irresistible  curiosity 
to  watch  the  progress  of  the  terrible  foe.  At  length 
Oneyda  raised  himself  from  his  recumbent  position  to 
take  a  view  of  the  herd.  The  animals  were  very 
near.  His  companions  sprang  up  and  rushed  forward 
in  various  directions,  shouting  and  throwing  their 
arms  into  the  air,  clashing  their  weapons,  and  using 
every  means  in  their  power  to  frighten  the  startled 
host.  The  effect  was  as  instantaneous  as  wonderful ; 
the  buffaloes  were  thrown  into  a  panic  and  divided  ; 
file  after  file  scampered  past  the  hunters,  and  the 
whole  herd  diverged  over  the  plain.  Those  nearest 
to  them,  bewildered  by  the  sudden  shock  they  had 
received,  though  at  first  so  madly  bounding  forward, 
had  been  checked  effectually  by  the  cries  and  men- 
acing gestures  of  the  party.  A  few  stragglers,  bold- 
.  er  than  the  rest,  remained  at  bay,  and  these  it  was 
Oneyda's  right  and  duty  to  attack.  His  rank  entitled 
him  to  this  dangerous  privilege,  and  he  advanced  alone 
to  the  charge.  The  foremost  buffalo  received  an  ar- 
row in  his  flank,  a  d  rendered  furious  by  the  wound, 
7* 


78  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

came  rushing  toward  his  assailant,  tossing  his  huge 
and  shaggy  head  and  bellowing  loudly,  while  he 
trampled  the  long  grass  beneath  his  hoofs.  The  dan- 
ger appeared  imminent,  but  Oneyda  sank  quietly  to 
the  earth,  and  the  enraged  animal,  still  plunging  on- 
ward, passed  within  a  yard  of  the  spot  where  he  lay. 
He  was  soon  upon  his  feet  again,  and  drawing  anoth- 
er well-aimed  shaft,  his  victim  fell,  tossing  and  strug- 
gling, to  the  ground.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  ar- 
dor with  which  the  Indians  pursued  their  favorite 
amusement.  The  whole  plain  re-echoed  with  the 
shouts  of  the  hunters  and  the  roars  of  the  dying  or 
infuriated  animals. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  dreary  months  of  winter  came  at  length ; 
dreaiy,  because  to  Philip  they  brought  the  cheerful 
memory  of  past  years  with  painful  vividness  before 
him,  and  in  bitter  contrast  to  his  present  position. 
Philip  was  weary  of  his  captivity,  and  his  patience 
often  wavered ;  the  firm  and  constant  courage  he  had 
proposed  to  himself  yielded  frequently  to  the  depres- 
sing circumstances  of  his  lot,  and  he  was  fast  approach- 
ing to  a  settled  despondency.  The  society  of  Alice 
became  a  burden  to  him,  and  he  preferred  his  solitary 
rambles  where  he  could  indulge  in  melancholy  with- 
out the  interruption  of  her  lively  prattle;  for  the  little 
girl  had  no  intention  of  nursing  care  of  any  kind,  but 
had  thrown  away  sorrow,  and  reconciled  herself  most 
happily  to  her  new  mode  of  life  and  the  companion- 
ship of  savage  playfellows. 

But  from  this  unhealthy  state  of  mind,  he  was  re- 
covered by  a  new  train  of  thoughts  arising  from  a 
providential  circumstance.  Christmas  day  arrived, 
and  he  awoke  to  those  painful  feelings  in  the  gloomy 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  79 

light  of  a  winter's  morning.  As  usual,  he  called  the 
name  of  the  day  to  his  sister,  who  slept  in  an  adjoin- 
ing apartment  of  the  hut. 

The  poor  captive  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
and  gave  way  to  the  troubled  feelings  which  over- 
whelmed him.  The  past  brought  torturing  recollec- 
tions, from  contrast  with  the  present ;  and  resignation 
and  hope  seemed  for  a  while  to  have  given  place  to 
despair.  Captivity  was  intolerable,  and  Philip  thought 
he  would  rather  not  live  than  continue  in  such  an  un- 
happy condition.  But  the  voice  of  Alice  again  recall- 
ed him  to  a  sense  of  duty  and  exercise  of  self-control. 
She  came  up  to  the  door  of  his  little  dormitory,  which 
opened  into  the  village,  and  assailed  it  with  so  much 
resolution  that  the  fastenings  would  have  yielded,  had 
not  Philip  started  up  and  hastened  to  assure  her  that 
he  would  soon  be  with  her.  The  incident,  slight  as 
it  was,  produced  a  good  effect  upon  him,  and  remind- 
ed him  that  he  had  some  reasons  and  inducements 
yet  left  for  life  and  for  a  more  patient  endurance  of 
captivity. 

The  brother  and  sister  met  in  the  wigwam  to  share 
their  Indian  breakfast  of  hommony.  Unpalatable  as  it 
was,  Alice  had  brought  in  a  good  appetite  from  her 
morning  ramble,  and  Philip  felt  reproved  for  his  indo- 
lence when  he  observed  the  advance  which  the  sun 
had  made  in  his  course  above  the  hills  of  the  eastern 
horizon. 

"  And  where  hast  thou  been,  Alice?" 

"Oh,  I  have  been  down  by  the  river  side,  helping 
Maneecho  to  launch  his  canoe ;  but  the  water  is  frozen 
over,  and  I  could  not  get  a  sail." 

44  Thou  hadst  better  not  sail  without  me,  Alice  ;  but 
when  breakfast  is  ended  we  will  go  into  the  wood  to- 
gether and  walk  to  the  farthest  clearing.  I  want  to 
talk  about  home  to  thee,  and  of  the  church  at  James- 
town." 

Alice,  pouted,  and,  coloring  deeply,  went  on  with 
her  breakfast,  and  did  not  reply. 

'Nay,  Alice,  what  ails  fhee?     Surely  thou  wilt 


80  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

come  and  hear  of  home,  and  talk  of  all  we  did  this  day- 
last  year  ?"  - 

"I  don't  want  to  talk  of  home,  Philip;  it  is  no  use; 
and  I  promised  to  have  a  play  with  the  children,  and 
Maneecho  is  going  to  teach  me  to  shoot.  I  don't 
want  to  go  into  the  woods  this  morning." 

Philip  gravely  regarded  her.  "  I  wish  thee  to  go, 
Alice  ;  and  I  am  sure  father  and  mother  would  not 
like  to  see  thee  playing  to-day,  or  learning  to  shoot 
arrows  with  Maneecho  when  I  wanted  thee  go  with 
me." 

"Indeed,  indeed!"  said,  j^lice,  angrily;  "I  don't 
see  why  you  should  not  ISt  me  play  to-day  ;  we  can 
not  go  to  church,  and  we  have  no  books.  I  am  ten 
years  old,  Philip,  and  I  am  not  going  to  do  what  you 
say  always  ;"  but  she  did  not  venture  to  withdraw  the 
hand  which  her  brother  had  taken.  He  looked  at  her 
sorrowfully,  and  sighed.  Nine  months  of  association 
with  the  wild  children  of  the  Indian  village  had  not 
improved  Alice  either  in  character  or  appearance. 
She  had  lost  the  orderly  habits  in  which  her  mother 
had  so  carefully  brought  fier  up;  her  curls  were  still 
beautiful,  and  nothing  seemed  capable  of  robbing  her 
complexion  of  its  delicate  fairness,  but  her  dress  was 
untidy  and  soiled,  and  her  moccasins  full  of  holes. 
Her  countenance  had  lost  much  of  its  mirthfulness 
and  vivacity  in  exchange  for  confidence  and  haughti- 
ness, which  dispositions  were  but  too  much  encour- 
aged by  the  passive  obedience  yielded  to  her  will  by 
her  companions,  who  regarded  her  as  a  superior  being, 
and  permitted  her  to  rule  in  their  games  with  undis- 
puted authority :  she  was  acquiring  a  decision  and 
wilfulness  of  temper  very  contrary  to  the  docile  and 
gentle  character  her  parents  had  so  earnestly  desired 
to  cultivate. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Alice,  that  thou  art  unwilling  to  hear 
about  home  ;  for  I  thought  it  would  have  been  very 
pleasant  to  us  both  to  talk  of  the  Fair  Meadows  and 
Jamestown  church,  and  father  and  mother  and  little 
Margaret.     To-day  they  will  stay  to  take  the  Holy 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  81 

Sacrament,  and  I  am  considering  who  will  take  care 
of  baby  as  thou  didst  when  Bridget  used  to  stay. 
Baby  will  miss  his  little  nurse.  How  pleased  thou 
wast,  Alice,  to  take  charge  of  him,  and  sing  him  to 
sleep  and  make  him  happy  while  mother  and  Bridget 
were  away  !  And  this  day  last  year,  how  well  do  I 
remember,  Alice,  grandfather  gave  thee  that  pretty 
hood  from  England,  and  thou  wert  on  his  knee  all 
evening  stroking  his  long  white  hair  and  calling  him 
'  dear  dad.'  " 

Alice  looked  down,  her  varying  color  denoted  that 
she  had  still  more  interest  left  in  her  home  than  she 
had  before  acknowledged  ;  but  she  turned  her  head 
away  and  began  to  play  with  the  jagged  corner  of  the 
buffalo  coat  which  the  squaw  had  made  for  her  as  a 
protection  against  the  winter's  cold. 

"  Yes,  Alice  ;  and  dost  remember  how  last  Christ- 
mas day,  when  we  had  all  said  our  catechism,  and 
thou  hadst  been  praised  for  thy  comely  behavior  in 
church,  that  Rachel  More  kissed  thee  and  patted  thy 
head,  and  said,  «  May  God  bless  thee,  child !'  Ah  ! 
our  dear  friend  is  gone  now.  And  then  when  we  all 
sat  round  the  fire,  what  a  happy  party  we  were, 
throwing  on  the  hickory  till  it  blazed  so  bright  and 
high  !  Grandfather  kissed  thee,  and  said  thou  wast 
his  own  good  little  damsel.  He  will  not  say  that 
again,  Alice  !  And  father  and  mother  looked  on  and 
smiled  so  lovingly  !" 

This  last  appeal  was  not  made  in  vain,  and  the  sim- 
ple eloquence  of  her  brother  penetrated  with  the 
power  of  nature  into  the  very  heart  of  Alice.  He  had 
stirred  the 'slumbering  feelings  of  natural  affection 
which  had  for  a  while  lain  dormant  there,  and  though 
she  stifled  her  emotion  as  long  as  she  could,  they 
were  too  powerful  to  be  controlled,  and,  throwing 
herself  into  his  extended  arms,  she  hid  her  face  in  his 
bosom,  and  sobbed  and  wept  as  if  her  heart  would 
break.  Philip  did  not  attempt  to  check  the  current 
of  her  sorrow  ;  he  thought  it  better  that  she  should 
yield  to  the  touch  of  Nature,  and  strove  not  to  inter- 


82  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

nipt  this  overflo  ving  of  pent-up  emotions.  It  light- 
ened his  heart  to  find  that  Alice  was  not  wanting  in 
affection  for  those  she  had  been  torn  from,  and  that  in 
hers  was  a  chord  still  unbroken,  which  if  touched 
skilfully,  would  vibrate  in  sympathy  with  his  own. 

While  the  brother  and  sister  were  thus  engaged 
Meahmee  had  been  observing  them  with  much  atten- 
tion ;  her  own  eyes  were  moistened  at  sight  of  Alice's 
grief,  and  unable  to  bear  it  any  longer,  she  approach- 
ed and  said,  in  her  native  language,  which  Philip 
could  understand  : — 

"Why  does  the  golden-hair  weep?  she  is  Meah- 
mee's  own  child  ;  what  shall  her  mother  bring  to  dry 
her  tears  ?  Philip  has  spoken  angry  words  ;  let  him 
go.     A  brave  is  too  fierce  for  a  dove  ;  let  him  go." 

"  No,  my  mother,"  replied  the  youth,  addressing 
her  by  the  name  she  had  assumed  when  they  were 
brought  prisoners  to  her  hut,  "you  are  wrong  ;  Philip 
loves  his  sister ;  he  talks  to  her  of  home,  of  her  father 
and  mother,  and  she  weeps  because  she  can  not  go  to 
them.  Meahmee  knows  that  she  is  right  to  weep  for 
the  wigwam  of  her  father." 

Meahmee  comprehended,  and  replied  quickly  : 
"The  golden-hair  weeps  for  her  father  and  mother 
and  the  children  who  sleep  in  the  wigwam,  but  they 
can  not  hear  her;  they  do  not  see  her,  and  they  know 
not  the  speech  of  their  Indian  childreip.  Let  my 
children  stay,  and  they  shall  have  corn  and  water ; 
and  their  skin  shall  be  red,  like  the  children  of  the 
eagle,  and  my  brothers  will  love  them.  Meahmee 
has  a  wide  heart,  and  she  loves  her  white  children." 

This  address  was  most  gratefully  received  by  Phil- 
ip, who  valued  the  simple  affection  it  manifested  ;  but 
Alice,  though  tenderly  embraced  by  Meahmee,  was 
inconsolable.  The  sorrow  which  had  been  stirred 
within  her  did  not  subside  till  Philip  thought  it  ad- 
visable to  subdue  it.  Her  affections  had  been  dor- 
mant, but  their  existence  was  proved ;  and  however 
cold  or  indifferent  she  had  appeared  to  be,  she  had 
shown  that  she  yet  retained  a  fondness  for  those  dear 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  83 

and  nearest  friends  she  had  first  learned  to  love  and  val- 
ue. They  passed  the  day  together,  and  in  the  even- 
ing Alice  sat  pensively  by  the  hearth,  her  face  resting 
on  her  hand,  and  the  mirthful  light  of  her  eyes 
quenched  for  a  while  by  the  tears  she  had  been  shed- 
ding and  which  still  occasionally  suffused  them. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Onetda  had  been  absent  for  some  weeks  upon  a 
war  excursion,  from  which  he  was  daily  expected  to 
return,  and  Philip  began  to  wish  for  his  coming.  He 
had  not  found  many  opportunities  of  making  further 
explanations  of  his  faith  to  the  savage  ;  and  though 
he  sought  such  conversations,  the  chief  appeared 
anxious  to  avoid  them,  or  had  become  indifferent  to 
the  subject.  Meahmee  was  more  interested,  and  lis- 
tened with  the  attention  of  deep  curiosity  to  Philip's 
details,  his  history,  in  language  the  simplest  he  could 
use,  of  the  creation  and  fall  of  man  and  the  birth  and 
death  of  the  Savior  of  the  world,  which  the  squaw 
gave  ear  to  very  much  as  queens  and  princesses  of 
old  might  have  done  to  their  bards  and  minstrels,  not 
realizing  the  truth  of  the  story,  but  finding  in  it  agree- 
able food  for  the  imagination.  Philip  was  led  to  most 
sanguine  expectations  of  her  conversion  to  Christianity 
by  the  unaffected  interest  she  manifested  in  his  efforts 
to  instruct  her.  She  was  a  simple-hearted  and  untu- 
tored child  of  Nature,  with  a  mind  utterly  unaccus- 
tomed to  thought  upon  any  subject ;  and  though  her 
countenance  expressed  greater  softness  and  intelli- 
gence than  the  hard-featured  and  inanimate  faces  of 
the  Wyannow  women,  it  was  rather  the  intelligence 
of  feeling  than  of  mind.  Association  with  the  Eng- 
lish strangers  had  already  improved  Meahmee,  and 
she  thought  Philip  the  wisest  and  most  extraordinary 


84  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

of  beings;  t  was,  indeed,  matter  of  ceaseless  wonder 
to  her  how  the  young  pale  face  should  be  even  wiser 
than  her  grayheaded  father,  the  renowned  Tallassee, 
sagamore  of  a  neighboring  tribe  ;  a  chief  much  es- 
teemed among  his  people  for  discretion  and  sagacity. 

As  Philip  was  anxious  to  acquire  more  of  the  Indian 
language,  he  often  applied  to  her  for  instruction,  and 
she  felt  much  gratified  in  being  thus  appealed  to,  tel- 
ling him  very  readily  the  names  of  different  things, 
and  in  return  requesting  to  be  taught  them  in  the 
Yengee  tongue.  The  domestic  economy  of  a  squaw 
was  very  simple,  and  Meahmee  had  many  idle  hours, 
which  she  had  been  accustomed  to  spend  in  talking 
with  her  neighbors,  or  reclining  upon  a  mat  in  sum- 
mer in  the  shade,  and  during  the  winter  by  the  fire. 
She  then  passed  the  time  in  a  different  manner — in 
learning  English  words,  or  in  teaching  Alice  to  weave 
wampum,  or  to  fabricate  the  more  delicate  and  beau- 
tiful ornamental  dresses  of  a  chief  in  the  dyed  porcu- 
pine-quills and  feathers,  which  formed  so  striking  an 
effect  when  tastefully  arranged.  She  also  showed  her 
how  to  weave  baskets  and  mats  of  the  twigs  of  the 
sumach  and  the  long  thick  reeds  which  grew  upon  the 
bank  of  the  river  ;  and  the  little  girl  did  not  enjoy  these 
hours  of  industry  more  than  Meahmee,  who  was  de- 
lighted with  the  interest  and  skill  manifested  by  her 
pupil;  and  the  great  object  of  completing  a  new  hunt- 
ing-frock, richly  embroidered  and  ornamented,  for  the 
chief  on  his  return,  was  at  length  accomplished,  and 
the  little  fingers  of  Alice  had  mainly  contributed  to 
the  work. 

But  the  little  girl  was  not  always  at  work.  She 
found  time  for  active  sport,  and  Philip  could  not.  help 
smiling  to  see  her  sometimes  assuming  the  airs  and 
authority  of  a  drill-sergeant,  turning  and  marshalling 
a  troop  of  swarthy  children  like  a  company  of  recruits, 
admonishing  the  inattentive  and  awkward  with  a  long 
stick,  pulling  their  long  black  hair,  or  calling  out  an- 
grily to  the  disorderly.  The  grave  warriors  could  not 
forbear  a  relaxation  of  their  rigid  muscles  at  sight  of 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  65 

the  fairy  figure  of  Alice  flitting  around  the  little  troop, 
her  cheeks  glowing  with  exercise,  and  her  bright  eyes 
flashing  with  animation  and  eagerness  to  make  them 
do  just  as  she  pleased,  vociferating  her  orders  in  the 
imperious  tones  of  a  commanding  officer;  indeed,  they 
began  to  do  her  credit,  and  marched  in  tolerable  order. 
Their  parade-ground  was  the  green  of  the  village,  or 
square,  as  it  might  be  termed  ;  and  one  day  while  thus 
engaged,  the  young  recruits  were  interrupted  by  the 
unexpected  return  of  the  war-party  from  a  successful 
expedition — a  band  of  a  hundred  warriors  or  more, 
with  Oneyda  at  their  head.  Before  him  were  carried 
on  a  pole  the  barbarous  trophies  of  his  victories. 

The  chief  walked  proudly,  but  not  more  firmly  or 
elate  than  the  captives  who  followed  him  ;  though 
painfully  bound  and  fettered,  and  surrounded  by  a  fe- 
rocious guard,  unarmed,  and  in  prospect  of  a  merciless 
fate,  they  were  erect  and  indifferent. 

The  scene  so  nearly  resembled  that  of  their  own 
peril,  that  Philip's  heart  sickened  at  the  contemplation 
of  it ;  and  Alice,  so  lately  sporting  and  elate  with  her 
superiority  over  her  playmates,  ran  toward  him  with 
a  blanched  cheek  and  quivering  lip.  The  cries  of  the 
children,  and  the  ferocious  gestures  of  the  warriors 
and  women,  had  struck  terror  into  her  heart,  and 
startled  her  from  the  dream  of  empire  in  which  she 
had  so  unconsciously  been  indulging. 

"  They  will  not  harm  thee,  Alice,"  said  her  brother, 
fondly  kissing  her ;  "  come,  let  us  go  into  the  wig- 
wam :  we  shall  be  far  better  out  of  their  way." 

Alice  submissively  followed  him.  They  found  Me- 
ahmee  at  the  entrance  with  her  child  in  her  arms, 
hushing  him,  for  he  had  awoke  from  sleep  at  that 
wild  cry,  and  was  not  to  be  pacified  ;  he  was  calmed, 
however,  on  the  appearance  of  Alice,  and  began  to 
play  with  her  long  curls  as  he  was  wont  when  he 
wanted  amusement.  Philip  was  glad  to  find  that  she 
had  not  gone  out  to  meet  the  war-party,  and  thought 
there  was  a  shade  upon  her  joyous  countenance  which 
he  had  never  observed  before.  Her  gaze  was  riveted 
8 


50  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

upon  the  form  of  her  husband,  and  she  looked  as  if 
she  would  have  drawn  him  from  the  group  if  a  glance 
could  have  brought  him  ;  but  when  she  turned  her 
eyes  toward  the  captives,  they  seemed  to  glisten  with 
a  new  emotion.  Perhaps  it  was  pity  awakening  in 
her  bosom — that  strange  and  unknown  feeling  from  a 
savage  to  his  foe.  Philip  regarded  her  with  interest 
and  in  silence  as  she  stood  with  her  baby  hanging  over 
her  shoulder,  unconscious  of  her  burden,  her  thoughts 
absorbed  by  the  yet  distant  party.  At  length  they 
moved  toward  the  centre  of  the  green  before  the 
council-lodge,  and  then  Meahmee  turned  and  said, 
abruptly — 

"  My  son  is  not  with  the  warriors ;  why  does  he  stay 
with  the  women  ?  Oneyda's  enemy  is  at  the  stake  ; 
my  son  must  go." 

"  No,  my  mother !  my  heart  is  a  white  man's ;  I 
love  not  the  torture-fires,  and  those  poor  men  are  not 
my  enemies." 

A  sigh  escaped  her  as  she  replied,  "  When  the  war- 
riors came  back  from  battle,  Meahmee  was  a  swift 
fawn,  she  ran  to  the  prisoners,  she  made  their  hearts 
pale,  they  were  afraid  when  she  looked  at  them  ;  but 
now  her  heart  is  white  too,  and  she  stays  with  her 
white  children  ;"  and  Meahmee  looked  down,  as  if 
ashamed  of  her  confession. 

Philip  smiled.  "  Oh,  my  mother  is  wise  ;  it  is  not 
for  women  to  be  with  the  warriors  at  the  council-fire. 
Let  her  heart  soften  toward  the  prisoners  ;  see,  they 
are  taking  them  to  the  council-lodge." 

Meahmee's  eye  rested  once  more  compassionately 
upon  the  prisoners,  and  Philip  continued  :  "  They 
have  wives  in  their  wigwams,  and  a  baby  like  our  own 
baby,  my  mother ;  they  will  never  go  to  them  again ; 
and  their  wives  will  weep  for  them,  as  Meahmee 
would  if  Oneyda  were  to  go  and  not  return.  I  know 
that  my  mother's  heart  weeps  for  these  men,  though 
there  are  no  tears  in  her  eyes." 

Meahmee  hastily  retreated  within  the  shade  of  her' 
dwelling.     She  was  ashamed  to  show  so  much  sym- 


PHILIP    RAND0L1H.  87 

pathy  for  her  husband's  enemies,  and  this  last  ap- 
peal had  affected  her  anew  to  tears.  Who  can  tell 
what  was  the  luxury  of  these  dawnings  of  compas- 
sionate feeling  toward  those  she  had  been  taught  to 
detest  ? 

But  the  council  was  held,  and  the  captives  were 
condemned,  and  their  torture-fires  lighted.  They 
were  tied  to  separate  stakes,  and  each  seemed  to  emu- 
late the  example  of  the  other,  so  undauntedly  they 
behaved.  Philip  sat  in  the  wigwam  with  Alice  by 
his  side,  endeavoring  to  engage  and  divert  her  atten- 
tion :  but  she  was  aware  that  some  deed  of  horror  was 
going  forward,  though  she.  saw  it  not,  and  her  coun- 
tenance betrayed  every  alternation  of  her  feelings  :  as 
each  shout  of  the  barbarous  victors  rose  in  the  air,  she 
started,  and  the  color  left  her  cheek,  and  at  length  she 
stopped  her  ears,  to  shut  out,  if  possible,  the  terrific 
sounds.  A  hasty  step  was  heard,  and  Appomax  en- 
tered the  hut. 

"  Come,  my  brother !"  he  exclaimed,  breathlessly 
addressing  Philip,  "  come,  take  your  hatchet  and  knife; 
come,  see  how  brave  men  die !  The  chief  of  the  Black- 
feet  is  at  the  stake,  but  his  heart  is  stone  ;  he  does  not 
feel  the  knives  of  my  people  ;  let  my  brother  come, 
and  he  will  tremble." 

"  I  can  not  go  with  you,  Appomax,  for  he  is  not 
"my  enemy,  and  I  would  not  see  him  tortured  for  the 
world  ;  and  do  you  stay  with  me,  Appomax.  What 
harm  has  he  done  you,  that  you  should  join  in  these 
cruelties  ?  If  you  are  my  friend,  you  will  do  as  I  do. 
Lift  not  your  hand  against  brave  men,  who  can  not 
help  themselves  :  that  is  not  like  a  warrior." 

Appomax  heard  him  with  surprise,  and  turned  away. 
Meahmee  would  have  spoken,  but  another  yell  rose  in 
the  air,  and  the  young  Indian  hastened  from  the  wig- 
wam, fearful  of  losing  the  important  moment  for 
plunging  his  weapon  into  the  expiring  foe. 

The  captives,  after  enduring  the  measure  of  their 
enemies'  malice,  had  perished;  but  Oneyda  took  little 
part  in  those  horrors.     It  might  be  that  compunction 


88  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

struggled  for  the  first  time  against  the  strong  current 
of  habit,  pride,  false  shame,  and  a  savage  nature.  He 
did  not  join  in  the  taunts  and  scoffings  with  which 
they  reviled  their  defenceless  prisoners,  hut  he  stepped 
forward  once  to  offer  the  brave  chief  his  life,  on  condi- 
tion that  he  would  become  a  Wyannow  warrior.  The 
proposal  was  rejected  with  scorn,  and  the  proud  vic- 
tim expired  without  giving  his  enemies  the  slightest 
cause  to  triumph  over  his  weakness.  As  soon  as  the 
prisoners  had  breathed  their  last,  Oneyda  withdrew  to 
his  wigwam  in  deep  thought,  his  dark  countenance 
clouded  with  ill-concealed  disgust  and  sadness.  Me- 
ahmee  kept  her  station  upon  the  mat  which  lay  before 
the  fire,  and  rose  not  to  greet  her  husband.  His  rec- 
ognition was,  however,  kindly,  and  then  the  young 
wife  sprang  up  with  joy  sparkling  in  her  eyes,  and 
presented  the  child  with  much  animation  to  his  fa- 
ther. The  chief  pressed  it  tenderly  to  his  heart,  and 
then  returned  the  frightened  infant  to  its  mother.  A 
few  rapid  words  were  exchanged,  and  Philip's  name 
was  mentioned.  He  stepped  forward  and  offered  his 
hand  to  his  host,  who  received  him  with  as  much  cor- 
diality as  suited  the  dignity  of  a  great  warrior  in  pres- 
ence of  a  woman. 

"  My  son  was  not  at  the  torture-fires,"  he  said  in 
English.  "Does  a  brave  stay  with  the  women  when 
his  foe  is  dying  ?" 

"  My  Indian  father  knows  that  I  hate  the  sight  of 
cruelty,  and  since  I  could  not  save  those  unhappy  cap- 
tives, I  would  not  look  upon  their  sufferings,"  replied 
Philip,  boldly,  a  deep  flush  of  indignation  coloring  his 
whole  face. 

Oneyda  did  not  reply  but  by  a  look  of  surprise,  and 
turned  away  to  conceal  a  faint  smile  of  admiration. 
His  wife  had  already  prepared  their  simple  meal,  and 
they  sat  down  together  upon  the  benches  which  Phil- 
ip had  constructed  during  the  chief's  absence.  Alice 
was  all  happiness;  she  could  not  help  jumping  up  be- 
fore she  had  finished,  to  run  away  and  get  the  hunting- 
shirt  which  she  was  so  impatient  to  present  to  Oney- 


PHIL  P    RANDOLPH.  89 

da  ;  and  Philip  felt  a  secret  astonishment  at  the  cour- 
teous and  complimentary  manner  in  which  he  instantly 
accepted  it — throwing  off*  the  one  he  had  then  in  wear, 
and  putting  on  the  new,  at  the  same  time  bestowing 
many  endearing  appellations  upon  Alice,  who  clapped 
her  hands  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy  when  she  saw  Oneyda 
attired  in  her  handiwork.  Meahmee  was  quite  as 
hap^y,  and  the  chief  all  politeness  and  affability.  This 
little  incident  had  evidently  gratified  his  feelings,  and 
called  forth  new  acts  of  attention  and  kindness.  As 
the  brother  and  sister  rose  from  dinner,  as  it  might  be 
called,  and  Philip  was  preparing  to  go  out,  Oneyda 
laid  his  hand  upon  the  youth's  shoulder,  saying,  in  a 
low  tone,  "  Go  not,  my  son  ;  night  will  make  all  dark, 
then  you  may  go.  You  must  not  see  my  people 
now."  , 

Philip  took  his  place  again  by  the  fire,  and  Oneyda 
resumed  :  "  It  is  well ;  my  son  is  wise.  Now  1  shall 
tell  him  what  will  make  his  heart  very  glad.  When 
the  white  men  were  upon  the  trail  of  my  warriors, 
Oneyda  walked  free  among  their  villages  ;  he  never 
forgets  a  friend;  he  saw  your  father,  he  spoke  to  him, 
he  told  him  that  his  children  were  well." 

"  You  saw  my  father,  Oneyda  !  and  spoke  to  him  ! 
how  could  that  be  ?"  cried  Philip,  eagerly,  and  forget- 
ting, in  the  surprise  which  this  information  occa- 
sioned, the  peculiar  sensitiveness  of  the  chief  when 
he  supposed  his  veracity  doubted. 

"  Oneyda  never  lies  !"  replied  the  chief  with  digni- 
ty; "  he  saw  Henry  Randolph,  and  he  spoke  words 
of  friendship  to  the  pale  face." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Philip,  the  tears  suffusing  his 
eyes  as  he  spoke,  and  his  heart  beating  quickly  with 
the  varied  and  tender  emotions  which  the  name  of  his 
father  awakened,  "  you  know  my  father,  Oneyda,  and 
you  have  seen  him  many  times,  I  know  :  teli  me  how 
he  looked,  and  what  he  said,  and  if  he  is  well ;  and 
my  mother " 

Oneyda  said  little,  but  he  spoke  in  friendly  tones : 
8* 


90  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

"  Why  does  my  son  ask  what  were  the  words  of  his 
white  father  1  The  red  man  may  not  stay  in  the  sun- 
shine with  the  pale  faces  ;  they  have  made  him  like 
the  timid  deer  that  flies  to  the  woods  when  he  hears 
the  steps  of  man.  The  Yengee  has  hunted  Oneyda 
for  long  days  and  many  nights  ;  but  who  can  find  the 
nest  of  the  eagle  ?"  He  added  proudly,  while  his 
dark  eye  sparkled  with  mingled  passion  and  scorn, 
"  No  !  there  will  be  many  suns  and  moons  in  the  sky 
before  they  tread  upon  the  track  of ."  He  ab- 
ruptly quitted  the  hut,  leaving  Philip  in  a  state  of 
mind  far  from  enviable. 

The  village  was  silent  when  evening's  shadows  fell 
around  it,  and  the  early  winter's  night  commenced. 
When  Alice  had  retired,  Philip  took  his  accustomed 
walk,  and  bent  his  steps  toward  the  wood.  The 
moon  was  shining  brightly  over  the  tops  of  the  naked 
branches,  which  were  elegantly  and  clearly  outlined 
upon  the  gray  sky,  standing  out  with  the  vivid  pen- 
cilling of  nature  from  its  soft  mysterious  depths.  He 
felt  soothed  by  the  mild  radiance  of  the  firmament, 
and  the  keen  night  air  soon  exhilarated  his  frame,  and 
restored  his  languid  powers  :  the  events  of  the  day  had 
almost  stupified  him.  But  as  he  passed  the  still  smoc- 
king embers  of  the  torture-fires,  his  heart  once  more, 
sickened,  and  he  paused  a  moment ;  then  shuddering, 
quickly  turned  from  the  spot.  Yet  the  sufferers  were 
released  from  the  cruelty  of  their  relentless  foes  ;  and 
naught  remained  of  the  renowned  chief  and  his  com- 
panions but  the  mouldering  ashes,  which  the  first 
breeze  would  scatter  to  the  heavens. 

"  Ah  !  what  is  man  when  left  to  himself?"  thought 
Philip.  "  What  pleasure  can  one  human  being  de- 
rive from  witnessing  the  agony  of  another?  And 
Oneyda,  too:  he  could  be  thus  destitute  of  humanity ! 
And  shall  I  never  escape  from  such  a  den  of  cruelty 
as  this  ?  And  yet,  if  civilized  Christians  were  never 
to  make  their  way  here,  they  could  neither  be  hu- 
manized nor  converted,  or  made  better  than  they  are. 
I  am  too  selfish  toward  these  poor  savages." 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  91 

At  this  moment  a  tall  dark  figure  crossed  his  path 
and  stood  before  him.     "  Oneyda  !" 

"  My  son  wanders  from  the  wigwam  of  Oneyda,  he 
is  tired  of  his  red  father,"  replied  the  Indian,  in  a  tone 
so  sad,  that  it  went  to  Philip's  heart.  "  What  has  the 
great  chief  done  ?  Philip  hides  his  heart ;  there  is  a 
cloud  over  it  now." 

The  youth  answered  witn  emotion,  turning  and 
pointing  toward  the  smoking  stakes  :  "  What  has 
Oneyda  done  with  his  captives  ?  It  is  this  sight  that 
makes  my  heart  so  sad,  and  under  a  cloud  to-night. 
Oh  !  Oneyda,  why  should  a  brave  chief  like  you  tor- 
ture your  poor  unarmed  prisoners  ?" 

The  Indian  waved  his  hand  with  an  impatient  ges- 
ture. "  Philip  thinks  he  is  the  only  wise  man  among 
my  people.  Oneyda  killed  his  enemies  in  the  fight ; 
but  when  my  young  men  lighted  the  torture-fire,  my 
hatchet  was  in  the  ground.  Oneyda  will  not  torture. 
He  said,  •  Great  chief,  be  my  son;'  but  the  heart  of 
Mahuree  was  hard,  and  his  spirit  a  great  way  off,  and 
he  died  when  my  young  men  bade  him.  Oneyda  is 
the  eagle  of  his  tribe  ;  he  flies  to  the  sun ;  he  does  not 
stoop  to  the  crow." 

Philip  gathered  from  this  address  that  the  chief  dis- 
dained to  torture  an  enemy  his  inferior  in  rank,  and 
regretted  to  find  that  no  better  principle  withheld  him. 
They  walked  on  toward  the  wood,  and  had  not  pro- 
ceeded very  far  when  Appomax  joined  them.  The 
young  Indian  was  anxiously  seeking  his  friend,  to  gain 
an  explanation  of  his  conduct  that  morning  ;  and  this 
induced  Philip  to  speak  of  his  principles,  and  that  it 
was  his  religion  which  rendered  him  averse  to  every 
deed  of  cruelty. 

Appomax  could  not  understand  the  word  cruelty, 
and  Philip  had  some  difficulty  in  explaining  its  mean- 
ing, and  still  more  to  make  him  apply  it  to  his  own 
actions  ;  but  Appomax  had  a  reverential  affection  for 
Philip,  and  regarded  him  with  superstitious  confidence; 
therefore,  though  he  could  not  understand  the  reason- 
ing of  his  friend,  he  doubted  nothing  of  the  truth  of 


92  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

his  statements  as  to  the  wondrous  story  of  God's  pow- 
er and  providence  in  this  world,  his  love  to  man,  and 
the  holy  law  which  he  had  given  for  man's  conduct 
and  happiness. 

Philip  had  not  long  exercised  himself  in  self-com- 
munion ere  be  discovered  how  iittle  he  actually  knew 
of  his  own  heart ;  and  he  never  returned  from  more 
active  life  to  the  retirement  of  his  solitary  rambles 
without  deeper  convictions  of  this  very  truth.  Every 
day's  experience  confirmed  it,  that  intercourse  with 
beings  so  distasteful  and  uncongenial  was  so  unendu- 
rable that  he  was  only  too  anxious  to  avoid  them,  and 
was  growing  selfishly  fond  of  his  own  society:  first, 
because  it  enabled  him  to  gain  more  self-knowledge, 
and  secondly,  because  it  rendered  captivity  more  toler- 
able. Still  this  was  not  molive  sufficient  to  shun  so- 
ciety and  withdraw  himself  from  every  opportunity  of 
doing  good  to  the  ignorant  beings  he  had  resolved  to 
instruct.  But  how  was  he  to  do  them  good  ?  He 
knew  not ;  and  principally  because  he  really  knew 
very  little  of  himself.  If  Philip  had  been  left  to  the 
happy  tranquillity  of  undisturbed  domestic  life  in  the 
Fair  Meadows,  he  would  have  grown  up  a  good  and 
amiable  man,  romantic  but  inactive,  rather  passively 
excellent  than  useful ;  but  now  he  was  called  upon,  by 
the  voice  of  conscience  and  the  powerful  conscious- 
ness of  superiority  to  his  present  associates,  to  exert 
himself  for  others,  and  to  do  God  service.  After  much 
thought  upon  the  subject,  it  appeared  to  him  better 
and  wiser  to  commence  the  work  patiently  and  ob- 
scurely by  endeavoring  to  influence  those  immediately 
around  him.  The  wayward  Alice,  the  simple  Meah- 
mee,  the  ardent  and  affectionate  Appomax,  and  Oney- 
da,  were  unquestionably  the  first  and  nearest  objects 
of  his  solicitude,  and  in  them  was  evidently  centred 
his  sphere  of  duty.  But  could  he  hope  to  gain  the 
haughty  and  indifferent  Oneyda  as  a  patient  listener, 
when,  after  so  many  attempts  to  secure  his  attention, 
he  had  discovered  him  to  be  deeply  abstracted  and 
even  unconscious  of  his  presence  ?     He  thought  that 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  93 

no  plan  he  could  fix  upon  for  his  good  would  be  more 
effectual  for  the  present  than  to  regulate  his  own  tem- 
per, to  set  an  example  in  his  own  conduct  of  the  prin- 
ciples he  wished  to  inculcate  ;  and,  above  all,  to  pray 
daily  for  direction  in  his  duty,  and  for  spiritual  bles- 
sings upon  his  companions. 

It  will  not  have  been  forgotten  that  Oneyda  deferred 
more  serious  conversation  with  Philip  on  the  subject 
of  his  religion  till  the  winter  evenings  should  arrive, 
when  by  the  wigwam  hearth,  the  white  boy  was  to 
tell  him  of  the  God  of  his  fathers  ;  but,  during  the 
beginning  of  the  winter,  the  chief  was  absent,  and 
not  until  the  evening  so  lately  described  had  any  such 
converse  taken  place  between  them.  From  that 
night  may  be  dated  the  missionary  labors  of  Philip 
Randolph  among  the  Indians  of  the  west. 

When  night  set  in  and  the  cold  winds  blew  fiercely 
without  the  wigwam  of  Oneyda,  the  inmates  drew 
around  their  central  hearth,  and  though  the  smoke  of 
the  chief's  pipe  blended  with  that  of  the  piled-up  fuel 
and  escaped  as  it  could  best  find  vent  through  a  hole 
in  the  roof,  the  interior  was  neither  comfortless  nor 
unpicturesque.  Meahmee,  busily  plaiting  reeds,  or 
assisted  by  Alice  dressing  the  porcupine's  quills  for 
dyeing,  sat  upon  a  mat  before  the  fire,  her  child 
sleeping  in  a  corner,  while  Oneyda  reclined  upon  a 
pile  of  skins  and  furs,  which  a  modern  trader  would 
have  envied — the  most  luxurious  couch  of  a  warrior  ; 
Appomax,  a  frequent  visiter,  seated  upon  the  ground 
with  folded  arms,  and  dark  wondering  eyes  fixed  upon 
the  countenance  of  Philip,  who,  with  an  arm  thrown 
around  his  sister,  and  sitting  upon  a  low  bench  of  his 
own  construction,  in  these  moments  often  forgot  the 
weariness  of  captivity  ;  they  were  the  sweet  drops 
mingled  in  the  bitter  portion  allotted  him,  and,  while 
talking  to  Appomax  with  a  fluency  that  increased 
with  practice,  he  lost  all  consciousness  of  the  savage 
scene  in  which  he  was  acting.  Appomax  showed 
much  interest  and  curiosity  respecting  the  settlement 
and  the  habits  of  the  English  ;  he  felt  great  desire  to 


94  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

visit  them,  and  asked  many  questions  as  to  the  way 
thither,  which  Philip  could  not  answer,  and  to  which 
Oneyda  never  replied.  Meahmee  too,  showed  by  her 
artless  and  almost  childish  expressions  of  wonder  and 
delight,  how  much  interest  she  felt  in  hearing  of  Mar- 
garet Randolph's  housekeeping,  but  especially  of  her 
loom,  which  was  the  most  extraordinary  and  incon- 
ceivable thing  she  had  ever  heard  of.  These  fireside 
conversations  were  insensibly  working  changes  in  the 
minds  of  the  simple  natives.  They  served  to  bring 
them  in  contact  with  civilization ;  presenting  objects 
new  and  striking,  and  leading  them  by  degrees  to  em- 
ulate all  they  heard,  and  to  long  for  the  same  happy 
condition.  It  gave  them  also  very  great  conscious- 
ness of  Philip's  superiority,  and  so  agreeable  did  he 
thus  become  that  in  spite  of  his  pride,  Oneyda  himself 
was  not  proof  against  the  charm,  and  though  he  sel- 
dom joined  in  the  conversation,  the  abrupt  and  laconic 
questions  with  which  he  occasionally  interrupted  it, 
evidenced  an  interest  and  attention  highly  flattering  to 
the  youthful  speaker.  These  meetings  were  held  in 
the  wigwam  every  evening,  and  Philip  thought  he 
was  doing  good.  Thus  occupied  his  heart  felt  light- 
ened of  half  its  sorrows,  and  at  night  he  retired  with 
feelings  more  resigned  to  his  lot,  and  cheered  by  the 
efforts  he  had  been  able  to  make  for  the  good  of  oth- 
ers. 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  Oneyda  always  in- 
tended to  leave  his  adopted  son  behind  him  in  his  va- 
rious excursions  ;  Philip  was  of  an  age  to  take  a  more 
active  part  in  these  expeditions  than  merely  to  stand 
by  and  watch  the  preparations  for  war  or  the  depart- 
ure of  the  warriors.  He  thought  it  now  time  for  him 
to  come  forward  and  show  that  he  still  possessed  the 
brave  spirit  which  they  had  at  first  admired  in  him. 
Philip  had  not  a  few  enemies  among  the  Wyannows; 
there  were  very  many  of  his  companions  who  secretly 
hated  the  favorite  of  their  chief,  and  eyed  the  stranger 
with  dislike  and  suspicion.  They  had  frequently  ex- 
pressed their  opinion  that  he  was  no  brave,  but  loved 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  95 

walking  by  the  river  much  more  than  handling  a  weap- 
on. But,  either  these  aspersions  never  met  the  ear  of 
the  chief,  or  he  was  indifferent  to  them ;  for  he  con- 
tinued to  speak  of  his  protege  in  terms  of  affection, 
and  was  evidently  proud  of  the  treasure  he  possessed. 
In  those  moments  of  private  and  domestic  intercourse, 
when  unrestrained  by  the  observation  of  others  or  the 
formal  and  ceremonious  requirements  of  Indian  dig- 
nity, he  would  throw  aside  the  stoical  reserve  of  his 
race,  and  talk  to  Philip  in  the  free  and  confidential 
tone  of  a  father  addressing  a  favorite  son.  On  such 
occasions  Philip  was  often  made  aware  that  Oneyda 
was  his  inferior.  Though  the  Indian  possessed 
knowledge  that  sometimes  surprised  his  young  com- 
panion, and  uttered  sentiments  far  in  advance  of  his 
age  and  nation,  they  were  of  the  kind  least  likely  to 
be  appreciated  by  a  youth  who  knew  little  of  real 
life  and  nothing  of  the  actual  position  of  the  chief  or 
of  the  sources  of  his  information;  but  Philip,  while 
he  knew  his  own  mental  and  moral  superiority,  was 
despondent  of  imparting  any;  and,  moreover,  the  bet- 
ter he  became  acquainted  with  Oneyda  the  less  hope 
he  felt  of  ever  rendering  the  influence  he  possessed 
available  to  the  regaining  of  his  own  freedom. 

Oneyda  must  not  be  called  a  savage  ;  he  had  not 
thus  long  associated  with  so  intelligent  a  mind  as  Phil- 
ip's without  experiencing  the  beneficial  effect  which 
is  sure  to  result  in  every  case  from  such  a  circum- 
stance. It  was  not  indeed  the  first  time  he  had  been 
thrown  into  civilized  society,  but  he  had  never  been 
placed  for  so  long  a  period  under  a  similar  influence. 
There  was  a  gentle  firmness  in  Philip's  manner  and  a 
thoughtful  ness  beyond  his  years  that  attracted  his  in- 
terest ;  he  marvelled  that  one  so  young  should  have 
attained  to  such  dignity  and  self-control.  He  never 
saw  in  him  any  approach  to  the  folly  and  wild  ferocity 
which  was  so  ready  to  break  forth  in  the  young  men 
of  the  tribe  w*n/en  ordinary  restraints  were  withdrawn. 
This  Yengee  youth,  though  brave  and  sincere,  fearless 
of  his  anger  and  resolute  in  doing  what  he  thought 


96  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

right,  was  at  the  same  time  patient  and  respectful,  and 
wise  in  many  things  which  he  had  never  thought  or 
heard  of.  What  could  be  the  cause — the  secret  law 
by  which  he  governed  himself?  Oneyda  longed  to 
Know,  and  sometimes  condescended  to  inquire  ;  but 
he  was  too  proud  to  be  definite,  and  his  questions 
were  so  vague  that  Philip,  who  was  too  inexperienced 
to  read  such  a  heart,  felt  unable  to  satisfy  his  curiosity. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  chief  had  interests  of  his  own  to  advance  in 
extolling  the  superiority  of  his  captive  protege,  and 
this  cherished  plan  of  the  subtle  Indian  was  none 
other  than  to  train  his  adopted  son  in  all  the  discipline 
of  savage  warfare,  that  in  process  of  time  he  might 
lead  the  Wyannows  against  the  detested  pale  face. 
He  contemplated  with  fierce  exultation  his  anticipated 
triumph  over  the  foreigners,  when  they  should  behold 
one  of  their  own  race  bringing  fire  and  sword  and 
terror  into  their  usurped  domains.  Philip  would  not 
only  have  the  training  of  ?  red  warrior,  but  possess 
naturally  that  mysterious  influence  which  all  white 
men  appeared  to  hold  in  common  with  such  strange 
appropriation  over  the  deceived  and  injured  native. 
Many  vague  ideas  of  the  manner  in  which  his  proj- 
ects were  to  be  accomplished  floated  through  Oney- 
da's  imagination,  and  so  deep  was  the  animosity  he 
cherished  toward  the  English  intruders,  and  so  great 
his  infatuation  respecting  Philip,  that  he  could  not  re- 
frain from  discoursing  upon  his  hopes  to  those  elders 
of  the  tribe  who  were  already  prepossessed  in  his  fa- 
vor ;  and  their  opinions  coinciding  with  his  own,  Oney- 
da could  not  entertain  a  doubt  as  to  the  delightful  re- 
alization of  all  his  wishes. 


PHTLTP    RANDOLPH.  97 

With  almost  delirious  joy  the  haughty  chief  was 
summoned  to  receive  the  deputies  of  his  allies  in  the 
council  lodge  of  the  village.  Philip  remarked  with 
surprise  and  interest  the  high  degree  of  order  and 
ceremony  maintained  upon  this  occasion,  and  the 
deference  paid  to  the  messengers,  more  than  is  usually 
bestowed  upon  the  ambassadors  of  modern  princes ; 
but  that  which  most  astonished  him  was,  the  lethargic 
composure  of  Oneyda,  whose  dignity  did  not  allow 
him  to  show  the  proud  joy  he  felt  at  being  thus  hon- 
ored. He  sat  apart  and  abstracted,  though  occasion- 
ally his  eye  glanced  toward  the  envoys  with  intelli- 
gence, as  if  to  intimate  that  he  was  perfectly  con- 
scious of  all  that  was  passing,  but  that  it  suited  not  his 
present  pleasure  to  reply.  They  made  their  oration, 
and  the  old  men  returned  an  answer  through  one  of 
their  body.  A  long  pause  ensued,  but  Oneyda  was 
still  silent.  The  assembly  were  in  suspense,  and  the 
younger  warriors  who  could  not  imitate  the  stoical 
indifference  of  their  seniors,  looked  anxiously  and  im- 
ploringly at  their  chief,  but  he  rose  not.  The  mes- 
sengers maintained  the  calm  and  patient  dignity  suita- 
ble to  such  an  occasion.  Nothing  had  been  omitted 
ou  their  part;  the  wampum  had  been  presented  and 
the  pipe  smoked  ;  they  must  now  wait  till  the  great 
chief  should  condescend  to  speak. 

At  length  Oneyda  rose  ;  he  considered  that  sus- 
pense had  rendered  them  sufficiently  deferential,  and 
doubted  not  that  he  should  be  most  attentively  listened 
to.  His  attitude  was  majestic  as  he  waved  his  power- 
ful hand  toward  the  assembly  ;  and  then,  drawing 
himself  up  to  the  full  height  of  his  noble  figure,  he 
stepped  forth  with  animation  in  every  feature,  and 
throwing  up  his  arms  in  the  air,  uttered  a  few  senten- 
ces in  a  tone  that  shook  the  rude  rafters  of  the  build- 
ing, and  made  many  a  heart  within  it  beat  quickly. 
His  oratory  was  not  ineffective;  none  would  have  dis- 
sented from  him  who  had  just  been  ruling  them  with 
so  subtle  and  wonderful  a  spell.  The  shout  with 
which  the  first  burst  of  eloquence  was  received  re- 
9 


98  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

sounded  through  the  lodge,  was  caught  up  by  the 
crowd  of  women  and  children  without,  and  then  gave 
place  to  a  stillness  that,  by  contrast,  seemed  super- 
natural. But  when  the  sounds  had  quite  ceased,  and 
the  ardent  young  warriors  looked  at  their  chief,  he 
was  calm  and  silent  as  the  air  around  them.  Having 
resumed  his  former  attitude,  he  prepared  to  receive 
the  replies  of  the  envoys.  They  were  in  accordance 
with  his  wishes  ;  the  alliance  was  entered  into,  and 
its  details  considered ;  the  obligations  of  each  party 
were  denned,  and  arrangements  made  for  a  future  ex- 
pedition. But  Oneyda  had  yet  another  matter  to 
bring  forward ;  one  which  evidently  lay  near  his 
heart ;  for  he  appeared  struggling  with  feelings  too 
powerful  for  utterance.  Catching  a  view  of  Philip, 
he  motioned  him  to  his  side,  and  the  countenances 
of  the  messengers  expressed  their  surprise  at  the 
youth's  attire  ;  for  though  he  wore  the  short  buffalo 
robe  and  weapons  of  a  young  warrior,  bis  head  was 
not  shaven,  and  to  the  initiated  eye  of  a  native,  many 
deficiencies  were  observable. 

The  chief  introduced  his  protege  to  the  assembly, 
commending  his  brave  heart  and  wise  head,  and  con- 
cluded by  assuring  them  that  he  would  soon  have  a 
red  skin  like  the  children  of  the  sun,  who  looked  kind- 
ly upon  the  pale  face  since  he  had  made  his  dwelling 
with  the  sons  of  the  eagle.  In  the  enthusiasm  of  the 
moment,  Oneyda  went  on  to  anticipate  the  day  when 
Philip  should  lead  the  Wyannovvs  against  the  Yen- 
gees.  But  first  he  must  learn  their  method  of  war- 
fare, and  follow  Maneecho,  a  brave  young  chief,  on 
the  track  of  the  false-hearted  Dahwyotti ;  then  would 
his  arm  be  strong  for  his  red  fathers.  He  asked  his 
young  men  how  they  should  like  to  have  Philip  for 
their  companion  in  the  approaching  war  excursion, 
but  in  a  tone  of  curiosity  rather  than  of  earnestness  ; 
and  as  if  he  deigned  not  to  wait  for  their  answer,  went 
on  to  assert  still  more  decidedly  his  own  confidence  in 
their  perfect  willingness  to  receive  so  distinguished  an 
associate.  The  proposition  met  with  applause.    Oney- 


PHTLIP    RANDOLPH.  99 

da  next  turned  to  Philip,  and  his  manner  instantly 
changed  to  one  of  gentleness  and  courtesy. 

"  My  son,"  said  the  latter,  addressing  him  in  the 
softest  intonations  of  his  musical  language,  "  my  son 
will  be  the  young  eagle  of  his  tribe  ;  he  will  fly  up- 
ward as  I  have  done,  who  am  the  father  of  my  young 
warriors.  My  son  shall  take  up  the  hatchet,  and 
lead  to  the  track  of  the  falsehearted  Dahwyotti ;  they 
shall  not  see  his  pale  skin  under  the  paint  o£a  Wyan- 
now." 

Philip  considered  that  the  moment  had  arrived  for 
speaking  boldly,  though  he  apprehended  no  danger  to 
his  person.  He  looked  up,  therefore,  and  answered 
in  a  firm  tone  of  voice,  and  in  English,  "  I  will  not 
fight  against  the  Dahwyotti ;  they  are  not  my  ene- 
mies." 

All  turned  to  Oneyda  for  an  interpretation  ;  but  he 
was  silent  from  astonishment.  Appomax,  who  had 
been  for  some  time  intently  watching  his  friend,  now 
glided  through  the  crowd,  and  making  his  way  to  the 
side  of  Philip,  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  Say  you  will 
fight,  my  brother ;  your  heart  says  no,  but  let  your 
lips  say  yes — only  yes." 

"  No,  Appomax,  1  must  not  tell  a  lie  ;  I  never  will 
fight  with  your  people,  or  against  them  ;  and  my  lips 
shall  not  speak  what  my  heart  forbids." 

Appomax  turned  toward  the  assembly,  and,  over- 
coming his  agitation,  took  upon  himself  the  office  of 
interpreter,  saying,  "My  brother  is  very  brave,  but  he 
has  never  been  on  the  trail  of  our  enemy,  and  he  can 
not  sing  our  war-song ;  he  has  never  taken  a  scalp, 
but  he  will  learn  when  my  brothers  teach  him.  Can 
the  young  eagle  fly  to  the  sun  till  the  old  bird  has 
taught  it  ?  It  follows,  and  then  it  can  fly  down  alone. 
Let  the  Yengee  go  with  us,  and  he  will  learn  to  fight 
like  our  braves." 

Philip  waited  to  observe  the  effect  of  his  friend's 
appeal,  but  an  enemy  rose.  "  If  the  pale  face  will  go 
and  fight  against  the  Dahwyotti,  we  will  call  him 
brave ;  but  if  he  will  not  smoke  the  pipe,  he  is  a  cow- 


100  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

ard.  If  he  can  not  speak  with  the  tongue  of  a  led 
man,  he  can  smoke." 

"  Let  him  smoke,"  said  the  old  men,  who  were  now 
beginning  to  take  a  lively  interest  in  the  affair. 

The  pipe  was  presented  to  Philip,  but  he  pushed  it 
from  him;  then  looking  around,  and  seeing  the  state 
of  commotion  into  which  the  assembly  were  thrown 
by  this  act,  he  stepped  forward  once  more  to  the  side 
of  Oneyda,  and  said  in  the  Indian  language,  "  I  have 
not  told  you  any  lie  ;  a  white  man  thinks  it  wicked  to 
fight  like  his  red  brothers.  My  God  is  a  good  and 
holy  God  ;  he  hides  his  face  when  men  are  cruel ;  he 
speaks  to  me  now,  and  I  must  listen  to  his  voice. 
My  lips  can  not  speak  when  my  heart  is  silent.  Wy- 
annows,  I  will  not  fight  with  you." 

The  old  men  applauded  the  honesty  and  bravery  of 
the  youth,  who  was  not  afraid  to  stand  forth  boldly 
and  alone  to  justify  his  conduct,  and  many  of  them 
would  have  suffered  the  matter  to  rest  there  ;  but 
Maneecho  had  stirred  up  a  few  spirits  malignant  as 
his  own,  and  a  cry  was  raised  against  Philip  that 
reached  the  ears  of  Oneyda,  but  he  stirred  not. 

"  He  must  die  if  he  will  not  fight,"  cried  the  angry 
few.  "  He  is  the  friend  of  our  enemy,  if  he  is  not  the 
enemy  of  the  Dahwyotti,"  said  Maneecho. 

"  True,"  repeated  the  old  men  ;  "  if  this  young 
stranger  will  not  fight  after  being  adopted  into  the 
tribe,  he  is  our  enemy,  and  not  a  friend  ;  let  him  smoke 
the  pipe." 

There  was  a  pause  of  some  moments,  and  still  the 
youth  remained  firm  to  his  resolution  not  to  act  a 
fraud  ;  the  remonstrances  and  pleading  glances  of  Ap- 
pomax  were  vain.  Another  cry  arose  in  the  assembly 
while  every  fierce  spirit  was  roused  at  the  undaunted 
firmness  of  their  captive.  Many  threatening  gestures 
were  used  by  the  younger  party,  and  some  approached 
nearer,  commanding  him  to  smoke  ordie.  Philip  re- 
tained his  composure.  Turning  to  Oneyda,  he  said 
in  English,  "Can  you  not  help  me,  Oneyda?  Will 
you  see  me  in  such  danger-  and  yet  stand  silent/ 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  101 

Speak  for  me  now,  and  1  shall  escape.  Oneyda  !  is 
this  your  friendship  ?  Will  you  see  me  die  before  your 
eyes  ?  I  can  not  smoke  the  pipe  :  for  that  would  be 
to  act  a  lie,  and  that  is  sin  against  my  God." 

Oneyda  appeared  as  utterly  abstracted  from  the 
scene  as  if  his  bodily  presence  were  withdrawn.  He 
started,  however,  when  Philip  again  addressed  him  in 
a  tone  of  thrilling  energy  ;  for  the  youth  felt  the  ex- 
tremity and  peril  in  which  he  found  himself. 

"  Oneyda  !  why  do  you  not  help  me  ?  You  are  a 
great  chief,  and  one  word  from  you  would  save  me." 

"  My  son,"  he  said,  "  Oneyda  can  not  help  you  ! 
These  are  not  my  people — Oneyda  has  no  people. 
He  reads  your  heart ;  he  knows  you  are  brave.  But 
why  does  my  son  listen  to  that  voice  now  ?  The 
knives  of  my  young  men  are  greedy  ;  they  cry  out 
for  the  blood  of  the  Yengee.  Does  your  God  tell 
you  not  to  do  a  thing  which  would  save  you  from 
death  ?" 

Oneyda  suppressed  a  sigh  as  he  was  interrupted  by 
the  shouts  of  Philip's  enemies,  who  were  augmenting 
every  moment ;  but  against  this  storm  the  innocent 
object  of  their  hatred  was  upborne  by  Him  whose 
strength  and  protection  he  had  sought  daily  in  prayer, 
and  who  did  not  leave  him  in  this  extremity.  An  old 
man  now  arose  and  spoke  a  few  words,  which  were 
received  with  deference  by  the  assembly,  though  in 
opposition  to  the  almost  unanimous  opinion.  It  was 
therefore  agreed  that  the  contumacious  captive  should 
be  confined  in  the  prison-hut ;  and  that  when  the  war- 
party  were  ready  to  set  forth,  he  should  have  the 
same  alternative  presented  to  him-— but  upon  a  second 
refusal  should  die  as  decreed,  the  death  of  a  coward. 
44  Brave  men,"  said  the  old  man,  "  only  are  worthy  of 
torture  ;  one  stroke  of  the  hatchet  will  find  the  life  of 
a  coward." 

Oneyda  gave  his  orders,  and  a  few  of  the  younger 

warriors  advanced  to  the  spot  where  Philip  stood, and 

taking  from  him  his  weapons,  laid  them  down  at  their 

sachem's  feet.   His  heart  sank  within  him  as  he  passed 

9* 


102  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

Oneyda,  who  gave  him  no  token  of  interest  or  regard  ; 
but  Appomax  pressed  his  hand  in  the  crowd,  and 
Philip  read  in  the  glistening  softness  of  his  dark  eyes 
the  eloquence  of  a  heart  fondly  devoted  to  him  ;  and 
thus  was  he  placed  a  second  time  in  the  hut  which 
had  received  him  little  more  than  a  year  before,  a  des 
olate  and  bereaved  captive. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

Captain  Preston  escaped  the  pursuit  of  his  tor 
mentors  and  reached  Jamestown,  though  in  such  a 
state  of  exhaustion  that  he  lay  long  afterward  upon 
the  borders  of  the  grave  ;  but  when  sufficiently  recov- 
ered, he  devoted  all  his  energies  to  the  affairs  of  the 
colony,  which  were  much  deranged.  The  whole 
community  had  received  so  terrible  a  shock  in  the 
fearful  calamity  which  had  befallen  them,  that  the  hor- 
rors of  the  general  massacre  had  left  an  impression 
upon  the  minds  of  old  and  young  which  it  was  scarce- 
ly possible  to  efface. 

Captain  Preston  brought  the  first  news  of  the  safety 
of  Henry  Randolph's  children  ;  at  least  he  had  seen 
Philip  alive,  and  thought  him  in  no  peril ;  but  of  the 
fate  of  Alice  they  were  uncertain,  till  one  night  Henry 
Randolph  received  an  unexpected  visit  from  the  In- 
dian whom  he  had  so  hospitably  treated  at  the  Fair 
Meadows.  The  stranger  informed  him  of  his  chil- 
dren's safety  ;  that  they  were  well,  and  kindly  enter- 
tained by  a  great  chief,  who  had  adopted  them  into 
his  tribe  :  but  he  would  not  tell  the  place  of  their  cap- 
tivity, or  the  name  of  their  protector.  In  vain  the 
anxious  parent  entreated  to  be  made  acquainted  with 
these.  The  Indian  would  tell  no  more,  and  departed 
as  abruptly  as  he  came.     Henry  determined  to  follow 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  103 

ind  detain  him  till  the  information  was  given ;  but  the 
stranger  moved  quickly,  and  upon  reaching  the  river's 
side,  a  canoe,  manned  by  four  dark  figures,  was  seen 
in  waiting.  It  would  have  been  madness  to  attempt 
compulsion,  and  Randolph  was  obliged  to  relinquish 
his  intention.  With  a  sigh  he  saw  them  receive  their 
companion  into  the  boat,  and  push  from  the  shore. 
But  as  they  rowed  into  the  current,  a  tall  figure  rose 
in  the  boat,  and  waving  his  hand  in  the  direction  of 
the  bank,  said  in  English,  "  Henry  Randolph  will 
never  hear  the  voices  of  his  children  in  his  dwel- 
ling again  ;  but  they  shall  be  safe  in  the  wigwam  of 
Oneyda." 

One  morning  Henry  Randolph  was  called  to  the 
council ;  and  when  he  entered  the  hall  where  the 
members  held  their  meeting,  the  governor  did  not 
immediately  recognise  him,  he  had  grown  so  thin  and 
careworn.  Suffering  had  traced  her  intelligible  char- 
acters on  his  brow,  and  as  he  walked  toward  the  up- 
per end  of  the  apartment,  Sir  George  remarked  with 
regret  that  he  appeared  both  lame  and  feeble. 

"  I  fear  you  do  not  find  yourself  so  well,  Master 
Randolph ;  pray  be  seated.  You  seem  somewhat  wea- 
ry ;  these  March  days  are  fickle  as  April." 

"  I  have  not  quite  recovered  from  the  wounds  I  re- 
ceived a  year  ago," replied  Henry  gravely,  "  and  much 
fear  they  will  accompany  me  through  a  weary  life  ; 
but  the  will  of  God  be  done  !" 

"  Well,  well,  my  friend,  I  feel  for  you  ;  those  were 
bad  wounds  of  yours  a  year  ago,  but  the  matter  won't 
be  mended  by  dwelling  upon  it.  We  must  take  life 
as  it  goes.  You'll  not  be  lame  all  your  life,  depend 
upon  it.  No,  no  !  all  cloud  just  now;  but  sunshine 
will  return,  doubt  it  not." 

The  governor  spoke  rapidly,  but  the  husky  tones 
of  his  voice  denoted  how  much  he  felt  for  the  misfor- 
tunes of  Henry  Randolph.  The  latter  replied  with  a 
struggle  for  composure — 

"  We  must  take  everything  unquestioning  from  the 
hands  of  the  Lord.  His  providence  ordered  the  blow  : 


104  PHILIP    RANEOLPH. 

shall  we  not  receive  evil  as  well  as  good  from  him  7 
I  am  weak  from  my  wounds  still,  Sir  George  ;  but  my 
heart  is  sadder  this  morning  than  I  like  :  'tis  the  room 
that  unmans  me.  Last  year,  the  very  day  before  the 
massacre,  we  held  council,  and  your  excellency  gave 
audience  to " 

"Ah!  true,  my  friend — to  those  rascally  Indians, 
the  knaves  !  Well,  I'll  have  a  care  they  don't  abuse 
my  trust  in  that  way  again.  I  wish  I  could  catch 
that  crafty  villain  Opecanoff;  but  I  think  he's  made 
of  something  more  invisible  than  air — as  slippery  as 
volatile  mercury.  Send  where  I  will,  the  man  is  no- 
where to  be  seen  ;  and  just  when  I  would  lay  my 
hand  on  him,  he  vanishes.  But  I  forget  to  tell  you, 
Master  Randolph,  that  we  meet  to-day  to  consider 
some  matters  of  reprisal." 

"  Reprisal !  Sir  George — how  so  ?" 

"Nay,  nay;  that  face  of  yours  augurs  ill  for  the 
unanimity  of  our  counsels  to-day.  Well,  sit  you 
down,  Master  Randolph,  and  the  business  shall  be 
opened.  Gentlemen,  I  am  ready  and  impatient  to 
hear  your  deliberations.  Captain  Preston,  favor  us 
with  your  scheme  ;  and  you,  Captain  Smith,  we  hope 
will  introduce  us  to  yours  anon;"  and  the  governor 
took  his  usual  place  under  the  canopy  at  the  head  of 
the  table.  , 

Many  busy  heads  were  clustered;  and  much  con- 
versation was  going  on.  Around  Captain  Preston 
were  grouped  a  few  whose  dark  and  flushed  counte- 
nances looked  hardly  English  in  their  characteristics; 
already  had  the  climate  effected  a  change  in  their 
complexions,  and  they  were  talking  with  all  the  ar- 
dor of  the  southern  temperament.  Opposite  to  this 
party  sat  a  young  man  busily  engaged  in  studying  a 
rudely-constructed  chart  of  Virginia.  He  was  attired 
in  military  costume,  and  evidently  an  officer  of  high 
rank  in  the  corps  so  recently  imported  to  the  colony. 
This  person  spoke  to  none,  and  seldom  raised  his 
eyes  from  the  map,  upon  which  he  was  making  vari- 
ous lines  and  measurements.     He  appeared  quite  ab- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  105 

stracted  from  the  noise  and  business  by  which  he  was 
surrounded,  and  started  when  a  hand  was  laid  upon 
his  shoulder,  and  he  was  informed  that  the  proceed- 
ings of  the  morning  were  now  at  ^and. 

After  an  address  from  the  governor,  which  was  en- 
tirely preliminary,  Captain  Preston  rose  to  announce 
his  scheme.  It  was  none  other  than  a  plan  for  redu- 
cing the  native  tribes  to  subjection,  at  the  risk  of  ex- 
terminating every  human  being  among  them,  though 
the  speaker  shrouded  his  meaning  as  well  as  he  was 
able  by  involving  it  in  dubious  language,  and  the  use 
of  terms  which  sound  better  than  they  mean,  though 
too  frequently  in  the  mouths  of  politicians. 

The  speech  of  Preston  was  brief  and  animated,  and 
met  with  a  favorable  reception  from  the  greater  part 
of  his  auditors. 

"  But  your  means,  your  means,"  cried  Sir  George, 
vehemently,  as  if  listening  to  some  bright  but  imprac- 
ticable speculation.  "  You  have  raised  a  goodly  pros- 
pect to  view  in  the  peace  we  should  all  value  so  high- 
ly, but  I  have  no  eyes  for  it  till  I  see  whereby  you 
would  establish  such  a  state  of  things." 

"  Seems  it  truly  a  fair  prospect  ?  Then  your  excel- 
lency need  not  question  the  means  thereto  ;  though, 
after  all,  much  will  depend  in  the  worshipful  assist- 
ance the  colony's  servants  hope  to  receive  from  the 
governor  and  council.  And  presently  I  shall  endeavor 
to  show  to  the  members  here  assembled  those  meth- 
ods of  Indian  warfare  in  which  they  know  me  to  be 
not  unskilled,  seeing  that  I  knew  much  service  in  the 
time  of  our  late  friend  and  ally  Powhatan.  But  the 
rules  of  courtesy  prescribe  the  precedence  to  my 
young  friend  Captain  Smith,  whose  command  of  the 
reinforcements  entitles  him  to  that  honor." 

The  stranger  rose  and  bowed,  his  pale  face  flushed, 
and  belied  not  the  energy  of  his  tone  and  manner. 
His  utterance  was  rapid,  and  accompanied  by  gestures 
rather  nervous  than  graceful ;  but  his  simple  and 
straight-forward  eloquence  made  its  way  to  some 
hearts  in  the  assembly.     He  introduced  himselnfcs  a 


106  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

young  relative  of  the  Captain  Smith  who  had  some 
years  before  rendered  such  distinguished  services  to 
Virginia.  He,  too,  urged  an  immediate  attack  ;  but  it 
must  be  open,  and  after  the  European  mode  of  war- 
fare ;  for  his  troops  knew  nothing  of  any  other,  and 
would  fail  unless  they  were  led  by  their  own  com- 
mander, and  according  to  the  discipline  of  the  service. 
Besides,"  said  he — his  eye  kindling  with  indignation 
at  the  thought — "  what  can  be  more  unmanly,  more 
inglorious,  than  to  take  one's  brave  fellows  skulking 
into  the  woods,  now  hiding  from,  and  now  peeping 
at,  the  enemy?  I  am  not  here  as  a  delegate  of  your 
Virginia  assembly,  but  I  bear  the  commission  of  his 
majesty  to  defend  the  colony,  either  in  garrison  or  by 
carrying  arms  against  the  natives,  if  need  require,  and 
I  will  not  return  with  my  duty  undone.  If  the  red 
man  is  to  be  exterminated,  let  it  not  be  by  our  means; 
let  us  make  him  indeed  quail  before  us,  and  drive  him 
far  from  our  habitations  :  but  would  it  be  justifiable  or 
honorable  to  fall  upon  him  in  his  own  cruel  and  crafty 
manner  ?  My  heart  abhors  such  counsel ;  I  scorn  to 
use  my  sword  in  such  a  service !"  And  here  he 
sheathed  it  with  such  violence  that  the  scabbard  rat- 
tled on  the  floor,  and  the  walls  of  the  congress  hall 
gave  back  the  angry  sound. 

In  spite  of  the  rather  untempered  vehemence  of  the 
speaker,  many  of  the  members  regarded  him  approv- 
ingly, and  Sir  George  himself  could  not  refrain  from 
bestowing  a  glance  of  cordial  admiration  ;  but  Captain 
Preston  rose  once  more,  with  a  proud  smile  upon  his 
swarthy  countenance,  and  without  deigning  to  look  at 
his  youthful  opponent,  turned  to  the  governor : — 

"  Let  your  excellency  and  all  in  council  to-day 
judge  whether  it  seem  prudent  to  lead  English  sol- 
diers into  the  forests  of  the  west  against  the  wander- 
ing and  lurking  savage.  Tactics  would  little  avail  us 
in  such  quarters  ;  and  a  few  picked  adventurers,  pru- 
dent and  fearless  men,  would  accomplish  our  purpose, 
were  they  dispersed  over  different  stations.  Methinks, 
sinc^his  majesty's  captain  so  well   understands  the 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  107 

chart  of  Virginia,  he  should  have  learned  the  length 
and  depth  of  our  forests.  My  plans  are  well  digested, 
and  of  most  simple  execution." 

;t  We  await  your  announcement,  Captain  Preston," 
said  the  governor,  whose  curiosity  was  much  excited. 

"  It  is  simply  this,"  replied  the  captain,  with  an  air 
of  studied  indifference  ;  "the  fact  is  well  known  that 
the  Indians  are  lulled  by  our  apparent  dejection  and 
inactivity  into  a  state  of  confiding  repose  ;  they  are  not 
in  the  least  expecting  the  tardy  vengeance  I  propose. 
Who  knows  not  the  proverb,  '  Set  a  fox  to  catch  a 
fox  ?'  Well,  here  I  stand,  not  little  used  to  their  war- 
fare, and  with  two  hundred  men  would  engage  to  sur- 
prise Opecanoff  himself,  and  return  his  treacherous 
dealing  with  a  liberal  hand." 

"  If  you  could  catch  him,  you  would  indeed  find 
your  fox,"  interrupted  Sir  George,  laughing  at  his 
joke. 

"  The  tribes  between  this  river  and  the  Delaware 
are  quiet  enough,  and  forsooth  'tis  this  which  encour- 
ages me  to  my  plans.  I  have  certain  advice  that  the 
Indian  king,  our  crafty  foe,  has  but  lately  taken  signal 
vengeance  upon  our  allies  the  Blackfeet,  and  this  is  a 
sure  token  of  what  is  in  store  for  all  who  are  friendly 
toward  us.  Now,  I  find  by  comparing  notes  with  our 
worthy  Master  Randolph,  that  the  chief  of  the  tribe 
from  whom  I  so  nearly  got  a  roasting  last  year,  is  sa- 
chem of  the  Wyannovvs — by  name  Oneyda — and  he, 
by  advice  of  Opecanoff  I  should  presume,  is  about  to 
overpower  our  best  allies,  the  Dahwyotti.  Could  we 
procure  a  Dahwyott  guide,  we  should  easily  make  our 
way  to  Oneyda's  village.  Such  a  blow  as  that  I  con- 
template would  have  a  signal  effect,  and  by  such  alone, 
my  friends,  can  you  hope  for  safety  to  your  homes 
and  children.  Ah  !  there  will  be  no  flourishing  plan- 
tations, no  fair  posterity  on  these  settlements,  unless 
the  natives  be  swept  from  the  lands.  Ye  who  have 
friends,  brothers,  and  children,  in  captivity,  would 
you  not  wish  to  rescue  them  from  their  grievous 
bondage  ?    Will  you  suffer  any  fearful  and  softhearted 


108  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

notions  to  come  between  your  courage  and  this  enter- 
prise ?" 

Many  eager  murmurs  were  now  heard,  for  Preston 
had  touched  a  chord  which  he  well  knew  would  re- 
spond to  his  appeal.  Sir  George  Yeardley  looked 
around  ;  his  better  feelings  revolted  at  so  barbarous  a 
policy,  yet  he  could  not  help  thinking  how  much 
more  easy  would  be  his  rule  of  the  colony  were  his 
savage  neighbors  removed.  He  did  not  wish  to  reply, 
and  requested  Henry  Randolph  to  give  his  opinion 
upon  this  difficult  question. 

The  father,  whose  feelings  had  been  so  painfully 
touched  by  the  last  allusion,  obeyed  ;  and,  suppres- 
sing his  emotion,  spoke  in  a  firm  tone  fixing  his  calm 
upright  eye  upon  the  stern  countenance  of  Preston. 

"  Shall  we  do  evil  that  good  may  come  ?  You 
know  well,  my  friend,  that  we  should  not.  Let  every 
father  present  answer  for  himself;  for  my  own  part,  I 
am  ready  to  reply,  and  to  express  my  abhorrence  of 
this  scheme  of  extermination.  I  wish  not  to  magnify 
my  own  sufferings,  though  all  must  know  how  bitter 
they  have  been,  and  how  aggravated  by  suspense;  but 
I  would  not  sacrifice  my  principles  to  regain  anything 
I  have  lost.  Shall  we  treat  the  Indians  as  they  have 
treated  us  ?  Shall  we  carry  destruction  into  their 
villages,  as  they  brought  death  and  anguish  to  our 
homes?  I  should  marvel  less  at  the  natural  cruelty 
of  a  savage  than  at  the  proposition  we  have  heard, 
were  it  put  into  execution  by  Englishmen.  You 
know,  my  friends,  that  two  of  my  children  are  in  sad 
captivity.  I  would  do  all  that  a  just  man  may  do  for 
their  rescue ;  but  no  countenance  will  I  give  to  a 
measure  such  as  this.  The  English  settler  has  yet  a 
duty  toward  his  red  brother  unperformed,  and  how 
shall  it  be  done  if  we  treat  them  as  they  have  treated 
us?  Consider  it  well,  I  entreat  you,  before  decision 
is  given.  And  may  it  please  your  excellency  to  ex- 
cuse me  ;  my  advice  and  opinion  have  been  offered  to 
the  assembly,  and  my  vote  against  the  enterprise. 
The  feelings  of  a  bereaved  fit  her  must  plead  for  my 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  109 

weakness  ;  I  should  listen  to  these  discussions  with 
more  distress  than  would  be  seemly.  Gentlemen,  I 
would  fain  withdraw." 

There  was  an  expression  of  such  keen  anguish  on 
the  countenance  of  Henry  Randolph  that  appealed  to 
every  feeling  heart,  and  the  struggle  he  evidently  was 
making  for  resigned  composure  gave  dignity  to  his 
sorrow,  which  could  not  fail  to  win  him  respect  and 
interest.  He  withdrew,  and  a  silence  of  a  few  mo- 
ments succeeded  to  his  departure.  The  young  offi- 
cer looked  after  him  with  admiration  and  sympathy, 
testifying  his  respect  by  rising  and  saluting  him  with 
a  low  bow  as  he  passed;  but  when  the  pause  had 
been  broken,  many  experienced  a  sense  of  relief,  as  if 
some  weight  had  been  removed,  and  those  most  anx- 
ious for  revenge  commenced  forwarding  the  designs 
of  Preston  and  Smith  with  equal  ardor.  The  delib- 
erations of  the  council  finally  resulted  in  a  confirma- 
tion of  the  barbarous  project  of  Preston  ;  which,  in 
the  language  of  these  worldly  politicians,  was  termed 
merely  an  act  of  moderate  and  justifiable  retaliation. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Henry  Randolph  left  the  council  with  a  perturbed 
spirit;  yet  amid  the  conflicting  feelings  which  had 
been  roused  to  such  distressing  activity  by  Preston's 
speech,  a  self-approving  thought  rose  to  cheer  him,, 
He  had  made  his  protestation  against  the  cruel  pro- 
ject, and  feeble  as  his  voice  might  be,  he  had  done  all 
he  could  do  publicly,  though  he  still  hoped  to  plead 
the  cause  of  mercy  with  the  governor,  and  privately 
consider  with  him  other  plans  of  a  more  peaceful  ten- 
dency. Not  that  he  hoped  very  much  against  the 
promptings  of  self-interest  and  the  natural  evil  pas- 
sions of  the  men  who  were  stimulating  the  good-tem<- 
10 


110  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

pered  and  thoughtless  Sir  George  to  the  deed,  but 
because  he  felt  it  a  duty  to  use  further  arguments  ere 
he  gave  up  the  matter. 

Captain  Preston  was  a  man  of  daring  spirit,  whose 
favorite  element  was  enterprise.  A  life  of  adventure 
had  made  him  unscrupulous  and  reckless  of  conse- 
quences, and  he  was  little  accustomed  to  consider 
principles  of  any  kind ;  expediency,  what  is  best  for 
the  present,  was  his  governing  maxim,  therefore  he 
could  not  be  called  a  good  or  honest  man.  In  the 
subtle  modes  of  Indian  policy  and  warfare  Preston 
had  become  an  adept ;  and  in  his  frequent  communi- 
cations with  Pow-how-tan,  had  formed  friendships 
with  many  of  the  sachems  or  principal  chiefs  of  tribes. 
With  one  in  particular  he  had  contracted  an  intimacy 
which  was  only  dissolved  by  death ;  and  Oneyda  in 
dying  had  charged  his  son  to  show  kindness  to  his 
white  friend,  for  whom  the  youth  had  always  mani- 
fested the  greatest  abhorrence  and  animosity.  This 
young  man's  name  was  Opecancanoff,  whom  Preston 
supposed  to  be  the  same  as  the  newly  elected  king 
Pow-how-tan's  successor,  but  was  unable  to  verify 
this  supposition,  as  the  haughty  chief  had  never 
deigned  to  visit  the  principal  station  of  the  colony,  and 
his  wanderings  were  so  extensive  that  he  was  seldom 
to  be  heard  of;  yet  he  was  suspected  to  be  the  prime 

mover  of  the  horrible  transactions  of  the day  of 

March.  Preston  had  often  boasted  that  he  could  fol- 
low the  fox  to  his  hole  as  well  as  any  hound,  and  not 
a  little  prided  himself  upon  his  skill  in  conducting 
hazardous  expeditions  against  the  crafty  foe. 

With  such  a  man  Henry  Randolph  had  nothing  in 
common.  So  far  was  he  from  appreciating  these 
qualifications  that  he  could  not  discern  the  least  tal- 
ent in  the  captain  of  the  garrison,  and  dreaded  him  as 
a  reckless  man,  who  had  prudence  only  for  his  own 
ends,  but  was  not  trust-worthy  ;  and  his  own  feelings 
as  a  Christian  were  entirely  repugnant  to  the  plan 
brought  forward  in  council  by  this  person,  whom  he 
regarded  as  now  more  devoid  of  humanity  than  ever. 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  Ill 

Yet  the  last  argument  introduced  by  Preston  for  the 
recovery  of  the  lost  ones  had  made  much  impression 
upon  the  fond  father.  The  project  for  attacking  the 
chief  Oneyda,  in  whose  keeping  his  children  were 
supposed  to  be,  was  at  one  moment  too  inviting,  and 
he  could  not  at  first  bring  himself  to  condemn  it  ut- 
terly ;  but  after  further  reflection,  his  judgment  de- 
cided the  matter,  and  he  resolved  to  go  straight  tqthe 
governor  and  have  a  private  interview,  in  the  hope  of 
dissuading  him  from  his  cruel  purposes.  He  accord- 
ingly repaired  that  same  evening  to  Sir  George,  whom 
he  found  just  preparing  to  set  out  for  the  garrison, 
attended  by  Captains  Smith  and  Preston. 

"Ah,  thou  bird  of  ill  omen!"  cried  Sir  George 
gayly,  "  prithee,  Master  Randolph,  lay  aside  that 
grave  countenance;  our  plans  are  all  arranged  and  too 
cumbersome  for  any  further  ordering.  My  forehead 
is  wrinkled  already  with  the  weight  of  this  matter." 

"Yet  must  I  crave  a  word.  I  would  not  trouble 
your  excellency  needlessly ;  but  the  affair  is  alto- 
gether too  urgent  for  ceremonials.  Will  you  grant 
me  five  minutes  private  audience  before  you  go  to 
parade  ?" 

"Why  now  T  know  all  you  would  say  as  well  as 
if  you  had  told  me,  Master  Randolph  ;  but  no  learned 
lawyer  could  ever  make  case  clearer  than  do  you  to 
get  on  the  weak  side  of  me.  However,  I  can  not  re- 
fuse you  if  I  would,  so  we  will  not  detain  these  gen- 
tlemen any  longer." 

The  young  soldier  looked  after  Randolph's  retreat- 
ing figure  with  admiration,  and  said  with  much  ener- 
gy, "That  man  is  an  excellent  fellow;  I  like  him, 
Preston,  and  I  am  certain  that  he  has  a  great  mind." 

"Pooh!  pooh!  that's  a  spice  of  your  romance, 
I  suppose,"  answered  Captain  Preston  peevishly. 
"The  man's  worthy  enough,  but  too  tame  for  me. 
I've  no  mind  to  make  out  such  a  mystery  as  his  char- 
acter ;  he  has  not  an  idea  like  an}?-  one  else  in  the 
colony,  nor  can  1  see  a  glimmer  of  what  he's  after. 
A  man  that  can  leave  his  two  children  in  captivity 


112  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

without  raising  a  finger  to  help  them  is  quite  beyond 
my  understanding.  Ay,  and  such  a  noble  stripling 
too  ;  he'd  make  the  best  king  the  red  wretches  ever 
chose  to  rule  them.  K  he's  sensible,  he'll  stay  and 
get  promotion." 

Smith  replied  as  though  he  heard  him  not:  "A 
great  man,  I'm  convinced." 

"  Well,  Captain  Smith,  since  you  choose  to  wait 
on  the  governor  I'll  on  to  the  garrison.  We  shall 
have  work  enough  ere  night-fall — all  to  go  over  again, 
I  warrant  you — now  that  he's  come  to  turn  Sir  George 
round  again."  Preston  walked  quickly  out  of  the 
room,  in  evident  displeasure. 

The  young  man  stood  musing.  They  had  merged 
their  differences  ;  but  he  was  too  entirely  opposed  to 
Captain  Preston  in  principles  to  yield  his  opinion  with 
regard  to  Randolph.  Nor  would  he  have  felt  grieved, 
had  the  latter  been  able  to  impress  the  easy  governor 
with  his  own  view  of  the  proposed  hostilities.  The 
thing  which  occasioned  most  surprise  to  Smith  was 
this:  that  a  man  bereaved  of  his  children,  should  still, 
upon  avowed  principles,  urge  good  faith  toward  a 
faithless  foe.  In  the  meanwhile  the  subject  of  his 
meditations  was  endeavoring  to  turn  Sir  George  Yeard- 
ley  from  his  present  intentions.  But,  though  the 
good-natured  governor  of  Virginia  would  most  wil- 
lingly have  obliged  all  parties  if  it  had  been  in  his 
power,  he  could  not  extricate  himself  from  the  dilem- 
ma into  which  his  want  of  firmness  had  led  him,  but 
at  the  risk  of  offending  the  majority  of  his  council, 
and  such  consequences  were  extremely  disagreeable. 
Like  most  men  who  are  afraid  to  do  right,  from  a 
dread  of  false  shame,  or  ridicule  of  the  world,  he 
wished  to  excuse  himself  to  the  man  whom  he  so 
much  respected,  urging  the  impossibility  of  disarrang- 
ing plans  which  had  been  made  and  concerted  by  the 
newly-formed  house  of  representatives.  It  was  in 
vain  that  Henry  Randolph  placed  the  truth  before  him 
of  the  precise  resemblance  the  intended  inroad  bore 
to  the  deed  perpetrated  by  the  Indians  themselves ; 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  113 

that  by  whatever  specious  name  they  might  call  it,  it 
was  nothing  less  than  a  massacre,  and  one  which 
could  not  fail  to  bring  a  lasting  disgrace  upon  the 
name  of  England  and  all  succeeding  settlers  in  Vir- 
ginia. Sir  George  had  reasons  shallow  and  weak, 
but  better  than  none  to  his  own  mind;  and  though 
suspicious  that  he  was  doing  wrong,  he  fortified  him- 
self against  all  the  twinges  of  conscience,  by  falling 
back  u 
lature. 

The  contrast  between  the  two  men  was  very  strik- 
ing, as  they  returned  from  their  conference  to  the 
apartment  where  Smith  was  still  awaiting  them. 
Henry  Randolph  looked  sad,  but  stepped  as  one  who 
felt  conscious  of  having  done  a  duty  to  the  utmost, 
though  unsuccessfully ;  and  Sir  George  rather  tripped 
along  than  marched  in  his  usually  soldier-like  manner, 
endeavoring  to  hide  disagreeable  sensations  under  a 
gay  exterior.  On  bidding  Henry  good  night,  he  ex- 
tended his  hand,  and  said,  with  a  slight  tremulousness 
in  his  tone — "A  good  night,  my  friend;  pray  do  not 
set  every  man  down  as  cruel  or  dishonest  who  can  not 
see  with  your  eyes.  A  good  night  to  you,  Master 
Randolph,  and  better  days  to  you  and  yours.  Soon 
shall  your  lost  ones  be  restored;  doubt  it  not.  Pre- 
sent me  courteously  to  Mistress  Margaret,"  and  away 
he  went.  But  Smith  lingered;  a  (lush  passed  over 
his  pale  countenance,  as,  with  an  impulse  he  strove 
not  to  resist,  he  seized  Randolph's  hand,  and  said, 
*'  Yes!  I  pledge  my  word  as  a  soldier  and  brother,  to 
bring  your  children  back  to  you  safe  and  soon  ;  trust 
me,  they  shall  return." 

"You  are  most  kind  indeed,  young  man,"  replied 
Henry,  with  much  emotion  ;  "  but  say  not  so  confi- 
dently that  they  shall  return.  God  knows  how  blest 
a  sight  it  would  be  to  me  and  their  poor  mother ;  but 
He  who  led  them  captive  can  alone  restore  them  to 
our  prayers.  1  shall  hope  much  from  your  generous 
efforts,  and  my  gratitude" 

**  Nay,  nay,  nothing  of  gratitude,  I  pray  you,"  in- 
JO* 


114  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

terrupted  Smith.  "  It  will  bring  its  own  reward  if  I 
succeed,  to  witness  your  happiness.  But  how  shall 
I  know  your  son,  if  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  with  him  ?" 

"Know  him!  Oh!  if  you  should  see  one  more 
active,  healthy,  and  comely  than  another ;  though  I 
say  it,  that  is  my  son.  He  has  a  modest  bearing  and 
a  gallant  fearless  carriage  ;  and  Alice,  she  is  the  fair- 
est, sweetest,  little  sprite,  as  loving  and  as" —  Here 
the  fond  father  stopped  abruptly,  and  sank  into  the 
nearest  chair,  covering  his  face,  and  trembling  vio- 
lently. The  young  man  looked  on  compassionately, 
and  respectfully  waited  till  he  should  recover  a  little. 

"  I  am  very  foolish,"  at  length  said  Randolph,  in  a 
tone  of  anguish.  "  Pardon  such  weakness,  young 
friend  :  it  speaks  little  for  the  resignation  a  Christian 
man  should  exhibit.     Pardon  me." 

Smith  only  replied  by  again  wringing  his  hand,  and 
then  quitted  the  room,  to  overtake,  by  rapid  strides, 
the  less-enviable  governor. 

When  Henry  Randolph  reached  his  temporary 
dwelling,  he  felt  better,  happier  than  when  he  left  it ; 
and,  as  he  took  his  two  youngest  children  on  his  knee, 
and  looked  at  the  sweet  and  contented  countenance 
of  his  wife,  thankfully  felt  and  acknowledged  that  by 
the  goodness  of  God,  he  had  yet  many  blessings  left. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Alice  Randolph  sat  pensively  in  the  wigwam  of 
Oneyda,  totally  regardless  of  the  whining  of  her  in- 
fant charge,  who,  in  the  absence  of  its  mother,  had 
been  intrusted  to  her  care.  Her  eyes  were  red  with 
weeping,  and  though  she  had  ceased  to  shed  tears, 
she  sighed  very  frequently,  and  many  a  long  breath 
ended  in  sobbing.  Altogether,  the  little  girl  seemed 
very  sorrowful.     Two  or  three  children  without  the 


PHTLIP    RANDOLPH.  115 

hut  were  staring  in,  but  did  not  venture  to  cross  the 
doorway,  and  pressingly  invited  her  to  join  their 
sports ;  but  she  motioned  them  from  her,  and  at  heart 
could  scarcely  endure  their  swarthy  visages.  They 
had  never  looked  more  savage  in  her  eyes :  the  whole 
current  of  her  feelings  was  turned  against  her  late 
associates. 

But  the  child  began  to  cry  more  piteously,  and 
Alice  felt  obliged  to  attend  to.  him.  She  placed  him 
in  a  more  comfortable  position,  and  gave  him  a  few 
rushes  to  play  with  ;  then,  resuming  her  former  mel- 
ancholy attitude,  the  tears  which  had  for  a  short  time 
been  repressed,  gushed  forth  anew,  and  she  wept  once 
more,  as  passionately  as  before.  While  thus  yielding 
to  her  grief,  she  was  not  unobserved  by  a  new  inmate 
of  the  hut.  Oneyda  had  entered  just  as  a  fresh  party 
of  children,  more  inconsiderate  than  the  rest,  were 
about  to  rush  in  and  disturb  their  favorite  and  quon- 
dam leader,  but  he  pushed  them  back  sternly,  and  at 
this  rebuke,  the  whole  group  tools  to  their  heels  and 
were  soon  out  of  sight. 

The  chief,  seeing  that  his  entrance  was  unnoticed, 
stood  silently  regarding  Alice  with  glances  of  interest 
and  affection  ;  but  she  was  so  absorbed  in  grief,  that 
she  never  uncovered  her  face  to  inquire  whose  step 
had  crossed  the  threshold,  or  whose  presence  had 
stilled  the  crying  child,  now  chattering  in  his  baby 
language,  to  his  father.  Oneyda  did  not  interrupt  her. 
At  length,  as  if  a  new  thought  had  darted  into  her 
mind,  she  hastily  arose,  and,  without  casting  a  glance 
at  the  baby,  ran  out  of  the  wigwam,  and  rapidly  bent 
her  steps  to  the  prison-hut ;  but  her  progress  was  ar- 
rested by  a  strong  hand,  and  she  turned  with  a  feeling 
of  keen  disappointment ;  but  the  moment  she  beheld 
Oneyda,  the  flush  of  hope  overspread  her  cheek,  and 
she  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy.  She  clasped  his 
hand  tightly,  and  covered  it  with  kisses,  bestowing 
every  endearing  epithet  she  could  think  of  upon  the 
silent  chief,  who  only  replied  by  leading  her  back  to 
the  wigwam,  where,  having  closed  the  door,  he  sat 


116  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

down,  and  stroking  her  hair  in  indication  of  his  affec- 
tion, told  her  to  speak  to  him  again.  She  thought 
the  day  her  own,  and,  with  greater  importunity,  re- 
peated her  request  to  be  taken  to  Philip. 

"  Thou  shalt  go  to  thy  brother,  my  child  ;  but  tell 
him  that  he  must  fight,  or  my  young  men  will  be 
angry." 

"  Oh,  never  mind  your  young  men ;  you  are  a  great 
chief,  and  you  should  make  them  do  as  you  like." 

He  shook  his  head  and  was  silent  for  a  few  moments : 
yet  the  simple  child  had  suggested  an  idea  that  was 
very  agreeable  to  the  imperious  Oneyda.  Alice  stole 
closer  to  his  side,  and  looked  into  his  face  with  such 
a  pleading  tenderness,  that  even  the  stern  chief  could 
not  but  be  moved. 

"  Oh  yes,  now  dear  good  Oneyda,  do  let  Philip  out. 
Never  mind  your  silly  young  men  ;  thou  knowest, 
dear  Oneyda,  they  are  none  of  them  half  so  good  as 
our  Philip.  "What  business  have  they  to  shut  up 
dear  Philip,  indeed  ?  Oneyda,  let  me  tell  those  young 
men  that  you  don't  care  a  feather  for  them;"  and  her 
blue  eyes  flashed  defiance,  and  Alice  waived  her  hand 
as  haughtily  as  he  himself  could  have  done.  This 
appeal  was  answered  by  the  low  and  musical  laughter 
of  the  chief.  He  motioned  her  to  depart,  giving  her 
a  small  feather  from  his  plume,  as  a  passport  to  the 
guard. 

"  Go  to  thy  brother,  golden  hair:  thou  hast  the  eye 
of  a  dove  and  the  heart  of  an  eagle.  Go,  tell  him 
that  summer  is  coming." 

Alice  delayed  not  a  moment :  she  flew  across  the 
green,  and  soon  stood  with  her  feather  upheld,  urging 
instant  admission.  The  sentinels  did  not  prevent  her, 
and  she  was  soon  nestled  by  her  brother's  side,  laugh- 
ing and  chattering  with  her  accustomed  glee.  She 
could  not  sorrow  long,  and  the  traces  of  her  recent  grief 
had  almost  entirely  disappeared  ere  an  hour  had  sped 
in  Philip's  society.  A  day  and  night  had  he  been  a 
prisoner  ;  but  desolate  as  his  external  condition  was, 
he  had  not  felt  unhappy.    He  sought  to  wait  upon  his 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  117 

God  and  trust  entirely  to  his  providence,  not  anticipa- 
ting evil  which  he  had  yet  the  power  to  avert.  It 
gave  him  pleasure  to  see  Alice  so  happy  and  contented 
with  him  even  in  this  gloomy  prison,  and  now  bent 
fondly  over  her  ;  his  dark  eyes  were  only  occasionally 
upraised  as  the  thought  of  his  peril  and  the  possibility 
of  separation  intruded,  but  soon  again  they  sank  un- 
der their  long  fringes,  rendering  the  expression  of  his 
countenance  still  more  tender  and  touching.  She, 
all  animation  and  happiness,  sat  his  unconsciously 
beautiful  contrast,  the  brilliancy  of  her  fair  complex- 
ion heightened  by  the  suffusion  of  joyous  emotions 
which  tinged  her  cheek  with  a  deeper  glow,  varying 
with  every  modulation  of  her  voice  ;  the  liquid  and 
quivering  brightness  of  her  blue  eyes  was  now  and 
then  obscured  by  the  drooping  of  her  waving  hair, 
which  fell  over  her  forehead  as  she  moved,  to  be  as 
hastily  tossed  back  by  her  rapid  hand.  Philip  had 
the  sweet  satisfaction  of  observing  that  his  presence 
was  enough  to  create  this  sunshine  in  the  mind  of 
Alice,  and  that  she  truly,  warmly,  loved  him.  She 
would  have  chattered  on  the  whole  afternoon,  but  the 
guard  at  the  door  looked  in  and  made  a  sign  that  she 
was  to  come  away. 

"  Not  I,"  cried  Alice,  tossing  back  her  hair  as  she 
looked  resolutely  upon  him.  "  Oneyda  said  I  might 
stay,  and  thou  need  not  tarry  for  me  there  ;  I  am  not 
coming  yet,  Maneecho."  The  savage  stood  as  if 
transfixed  by  the  picture,  and  wonderingly  regarded 
the  fair  being  whose  appearance  indicated  so  much 
both  of  softness  and  energy. 

"  Never  mind  him,  Philip  ;  Oneyda  says  he'll  teach 
those  bad  young  men  that  hate  thee  to  behave  better, 
and  he  won't  let  them  do  thee  any  harm,  so  I  don't 
care  how  long  he  stands  staring." 

"  Nay,  Alice,  Oneyda  did  not  say  all  that ;  what 
Would  thou  tell  me  ?" 

"Why,"  answered  Alice,  blushing,  "he  did  say 
something,  but  my  heart  was  so  full  I  did  not  mind 
much  what  he  said.     Oh !  but  Philip,  he  called  ma 


118  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

his  dove  and  his  eagle,  and  said  summer  was  coming; 
so  when  summer  comes  he  will  send  us  home,  and 
then  these  ugly  men  can't  lock  thee  up." 

Alice  kissed  him  again  so  affectionately  that  he 
could  not  ask  any  more  questions  ;  but  putting  togeth- 
er the  probabilities  of  these  random  recollections,  he 
inferred  that  some  hopeful  circumstances  had  arisen, 
The  guard  at  last  recovered  from  his  revery,  and  once 
more  beckoned  to  Alice  to  depart;  but  she  was  so  un- 
willing that  it  required  all  Philip's  persuasive  powers 
to  effect  obedience. 

Where  was  Meahmee?  She  had  quitted  the  wig- 
wam early  that  morning,  leaving  her  boy  to  the  care 
of  Alice,  and  promising  to  return  ere  the  sun  slept, 
saying  that  she  would  soon  make  Alice  laugh  again. 
She  unmoored  a  light  canoe  from  under  the  shelter 
of  a  projecting  rock  and  sprang  into  it,  displaying 
great  skill  in  it's  guidance  down  the  river.  She  had 
not  proceeded  far  when  her  attention  was  diverted  by 
the  sudden  appearance  of  her  husband  on  the  bank. 
He  made  a  sign  that  she  should  stop ;  whereupon  she 
instantly  made  toward  him  and  he  sprang  into  the 
boat,  but  did  not  take  the  oar  from  her  hand.  A  few 
hasty  words  were  exchanged  between  them,  and  with 
more  tenderness  than  he  was  wont  to  display,  Oneyda 
smiled  encouragingly  upon  his  wife,  and  giving  her  a 
hasty  salute  made  a  spring  and  soon  stepped  lightly 
ashore  again  leaving  the  happy  Meahmee  to  pursue 
her  voyage  with  a  joyous  heart.  A  few  hours  of 
floating  brought  her  to  her  destination.  Here  she 
was  met  by  an  elderly  Indian  accompanied  by  two 
younger  warriors,  not  of  Oneyda's  tribe,  but  attired 
very  much  after  the  fashion  of  the  Wyannows.  The 
young  men's  reception  was  kind,  and  less  negligent 
than  their  usual  manner  of  addressing  a  woman ;  but 
the  old  man  embraced  her  affectionately,  and  accepted 
the  presents  she  had  brought  from  Oneyda,  with 
much  satisfaction  and  courtesy.  Meahmee  did  not 
quit  the  river's  brink,  but  promptly  made  known  her 
mission,  for  which  they  were  in  some  measure  pre- 


PHTLIP    RANDOLPH.  119 

pared  by  the  tokens  she  had  despatched  the  previous 
evening,  by  the  trusty  hand  of  Appomax.  Her  father 
listened  with  grave  attention  to  the  simple  eloquence 
of  his  daughter,  and  the  brothers  stood  respectfully 
awaiting  his  decision,  in  which  they  were  sure  to  ac- 
quiesce. 

Oneyda's  efforts  to  deliver  his  protege  had  been  pro- 
foundly considered;  he  must  not  appear  as  an  agent 
in  the  liberation  of  their  contumacious  captive.     Hav- 
ing turned  over  many  plans  in  his  mind  for  effecting 
this  purpose,  he  at  length  decided  upon  one  which  for 
its  policy  and  wariness  could  scarcely  have  been  ex- 
celled.    This  plan  was  to  secure   the  assistance  of 
Tallassee,  one  of  the  wisest  sigamores  of  the  west, 
whose  influence  and   counsel  were  indispensable  in 
this  affair.      His   alliance   had    been   made,  and    the 
friendship  between  his  people  and  those  of  Oneyda 
cemented  by  a  marriage  between  the  powerful  chief 
of  the  Wyannows  and   Meahmee,  for  whose   hand 
many  suitors  had  enriched  her  father  by  the  quantity 
and  value  of  their  presents,  but  she  loved   Oneyda, 
and  nothing  could  have  pleased  her  father  better  than 
such  a  choice.     Meahmee,  prompted  by  an  urgent 
desire  to  save  her  adopted  son,  painted  his  qualities  in 
glowing  terms  to  her  father  and  brothers,  and  partic- 
ularly  interested    the    latter   in    his   behalf.      They 
thought  he  must  indeed  be  scarcely  human  to  possess 
such  wisdom  without  gray  hairs :  they  almost  ima- 
gined, though  perhaps  very  indefinitely,  that  to  serve 
him  was  to  do  honor  to  the  Great  Spirit,  the  Father 
of  Life,  who  had  so  richly  endowed  him  with  gifts 
seldom  shared  by  mortals.     They  resolved  to  send  an 
embassy  on  the  following  morning,  which  should  ar- 
rive about  noon  in  the  Wyannow  village,  just  at  the 
time  when  it  had  been  arranged  to  bring  out  Philip 
to  his  trial,  and  this  they  had  no  doubt  would  cause  a 
diversion.     If  his   enemy  was  very  urgent,  and  the 
public  voice  clamorous,  Tallassee,  as  an  acknowledged 
friend  and  adviser,  was  to  petition  for  his  life  and  to 
elaim  him  for  himself.     This  would  prove  a  sure 


120  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

means  of  rescuing  Philip,  as  it  was  in  the  power  of 
Oneyda  to  comply,  which  he  intended  to  do,  although 
he  had  not  felt  sufficiently  independent  to  set  the 
prisoner  at  liberty  by  his  own  command.  Meahmee 
did  not  spend  any  unnecessary  time  with  her  father 
and  brothers  ;  but  entered  her  canoe  once  more  with 
a  lightened  heart,  and  was  peacefully  sailing,  when 
she  was  startled  by  the  sound  of  oars  splashing  in  the 
distance,  and  at  once  drew  in  closely  under  the  bank 
to  listen  and  watch  unobserved.  The  sound  grew 
more  distinct,  and  Meahmee  looked  around  for  a  safer 
position,  but  she  must  sail  onward  a  few  yards  before 
she  could  reach  a  landing  place.  Moving  steadily 
along  she  gained  a  harbor,  but,  just  as  she  was  about 
to  land,  three  boats  filled  with  strange  men  appeared 
in  sight,  and  their  singular  aspect  startled  and  arrested 
her.  The  drooping  branches  of  a  tree  partially  shad- 
owed her,  and  she  hoped  thus  to  escape  their  obser- 
vation ;  to  move  she  felt  would  be  most  difficult,  and 
therefore  remained  quiet,  watching  the  party  from  her 
place  of  retreat.  They  paused,  and  the  three  boats' 
crew  drew  up  to  consult,  apparently  in  great  perplex- 
ity. Some  stood  upright  and  scanned  each  side  of 
the  stream,  probably  in  quest  of  a  landing  place. 
They  selected  the  one  already  chosen  by  Meahmee, 
whose  consternation  was  excessive  on  observing  that 
they  were  steering  toward  it.  With  the  lightness  of 
a  fawn  she  sprang  from  her  canoe  and  gained  the  bank 
so  noiselessly  as  not  to  be  heard  by  the  eager  stran- 
gers, whose  attention  was  shortty  attracted  by  the  sol- 
itary canoe,  now  rocking  and  trembling  from  its  re- 
cent impulse ;  but  Meahmee  was  not  discovered.  She 
plunged  into  the  brushwood,  which  is  usually  to  be 
found  on  the  borders  of  the  forests  near  water,  though 
never  abounding  in  the  interior,  and  concealed  herself 
by  crouching  down,  and  scarcely  daring  to  breathe 
after  attaining  its  shelter. 

She  soon  heard  the  voices  of  the.  strangers,  and 
her  ear  detected  many  tones  and  words  which  Philip 
and  Alice  had  made  familiar  to  her :  and  she  there- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  121 

fore  rightly  concluded  that  they  must  be  English. 
Fearful  anticipations  rushed  upon  her  imagination  ; 
the  pale  faces  had  come  armed  into  these  wilds  ;  what 
should  they  seek  but  the  blood  of  her  people  ? 

The  party  in  the  foremost  boat  had  disembarked, 
and,  upon  gaining  the  upper  bank  of  the  steep  side 
of  the  river,  commenced  reconnoitring  the  place, 
and  then  one  of  them  descended  to  give  a  report  to 
the  others  remaining  in  the  boats. 

"  There  is  no  path  to  be  seen,  and  the  wood  is  im- 
penetrable ;  we  had  better  try  lower  down  or  higher 
up,  'tis  far  too  steep  here ;  the  lower  land  would  do 
better,"  said  one. 

"  Not  so,"  cried  another  speaker,  leaping  down  the 
steep  bank  as  he  spoke,  "every  one  who  knows  any- 
thing of  Indian  hunting  may  be  sure  that  an  open 
trail  were  the  very  worst  to  be  chosen  ;  take  the  river 
if  you  choose,  Captain  Smith ;  I'm  for  the  forest, 
and  will  take  my  chance  of  the  first  prey." 

"  We  are  going  in  quest  of  brave  men,  of  human 
beings,  Captain  Preston,  and  not  after  buffaloes  and 
deer,"  replied  the  first  speaker,  haughtilv  ;  "  and  I 
put  it  to  our  friends  in  the  boats  whether  mine  or 
yours  be  the  most  soldier-like  method — skulking 
through  the  woods,  or  marching  on  an  open  track 
where  there  may  be  fair  vantage  ground." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  here  to  take  my  first  lesson  in  In- 
dian warfare  from  you,  gallant  captain  ;  though  I 
doubt  not  your  tactics  are  vastly  humane.  But  I  put 
the  matter  to  vote,  and  the  volunteers  of  our  party 
shall  decide." 

A  third  officer  now  rose  from  the  stern  of  one  of 
the  boats.  "  My  opinion  is  this,"  said  he,  "  that  our 
party  divide.  Do  you,  Captain  Preston,  proceed  up- 
on your  forest  excursion,  and  Captain  Smith  and  I 
will  land  at  some  point  which  you  shall  name,  either 
east  or  west  of  this  spot,  whence  we  can  make  some 
junction  with  you  inland.  We  may  then  probably 
pick  up  our  Dahwyott  friends,  who  have  been  so  long 
on  the  way  to  meet  us." 

11 


122  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

"Trust  a  Dahwyott!  the  knaves.  I'll  be  beholden 
to  the  first  that  shall  ever  do  us  service.  As  you  say, 
Mark,  we  will  divide  ;  do  you  and  Smith  take  the 
western  direction,  and  I'll  lead  a  few  brave  fellows 
through  this  wood  up  to  the  red  bluff  you'll  see  hang- 
ing over  the  stream ;  but  mind,  gentlemen,  its  all  a 
chance  that  you're  not  seen  upon  the  open  river; 
draw  in  to  the  bank  if  a  leaf  stir.  We  shall  get  noth- 
ing done,  I  fear,  before  morning.  Follow  me,  my 
men,  we  must  not  tarry." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  cried  a  hearty  voice  from  below,  "  you 
say  right  now,  captain;  and  if  ever  any  proverb  was 
true  there's  one  I  wot  of — 'set  a  thief  to  catch  a 
thief,'  sirs.  There's  Captain  Preston  that  '11  have  all 
the  villages  burning  before  morning,  just  as  the  red 
villains  did  the  Fair  Meadows  not  so  long  ago ;  and 
there,  while  you've  been  talking  o'  this  way  I've  been 
speering  about  I'se  warrant,  and  I  think  we've  caught 
something  already.  Now  is  it  likely  that  canoe  could 
ha'  sailed  itself  into  that  snug  corner  all  alone  ?  Its 
clear  to  me  there's  been  hands  and  feet  here ;  and,  for 
sure,  the  little  thing's  rocking  about  just  as  if  it  had 
been  left  to  shift  for  itself  all  of  a  sudden." 

"  Well  said,  Ralph  Giles,"  cried  Preston,  "  and  we 
must  look  into  this  at  once ;  thou  art  a  sharp  fellow^ 
with  all  thy  impudence.  If  I  catch  the  bird  that  has 
flown  so  recently  I'll  tie  him  to  the  nearest  tree  till 
we're  safe  back  again.  Everything  depends  upon  a 
surprise.  I  would  not  have  any  forerun  er  to  our 
coming  on  this  occasion.  Look  sharp,  my  men,  and 
beat  the  bushes  there  ;  some  of  you  get  into  the 
trees,  and  look  round." 

"  Preston  !"  said  Captain  Smith,  with  much  energy, 
after  some  deliberation,  "  I'll  join  your  party,  and 
place  my  men  as  a  reserve  under  your  orders,  but  on 
condition  that  no  cruelty  is  used  here.  To  be  honest, 
I  confess  I  have  my  motives,  but  from  this  time  am 
resolved  to  act  in  concert  with  you  ;  so  !  my  men,  up 
and  be  ready." 

Captain  Preston  was  soon  upon  the  bank  of  the 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  123 

stream  once  more,  and  seizing  the  young  officer's 
hand,  grasped  it  with  great  cordiality.  "  1  question 
no  man's  motives,  Smith;  you  need  not  tell  me  yours 
— it  is  quite  enough  that  you  set  so  noble  an  exam- 
ple of  union.  I  am  sure  I  am  only  too  happy  to  have 
you  as  my  companion  in  this  affair.  I  acknowledge 
your  bravery,  but  must  again  declare  that  in  expedi- 
tions of  this  kind  wariness  is  far  more  needed  than 
courage." 

Smith  bowed  slightly  at  these  words,  and  made  no 
reply  ;  but  his  pale  face  flushed  as  he  turned  away  to 
hasten  the  movements  of  his  men. 

Captain  Preston  reasoned  with  honest  Ralph  that 
the  boat  could  not  have  come  there  without  agency, 
and  no  Indian  would  have  quitted  his  canoe  without 
securing  it  in  some  manner,  or  drawing  it  up  after 
him,  unless  suddenly  made  aware  of  an  enemy's  ap- 
proach ;  he  inferred,  therefore,  that  their  own  party 
had  alarmed  the  late  occupant,  and  that  that  individu- 
al must  either  have  escaped  by  magic,  or  be  still  very 
near  them. 

Poor  Meahmee  began  to  tremble  when  she  felt  the 
brushwood  above  her  hiding-place  press  more  heavily 
upon  her,  and  heard  the  loud  voices  of  the  men  on  all 
sides  ;  but  she  remained  quiet,  patiently  bearing  the 
rude  jostling  of  the  passers-by,  who,  sedulously  as 
they  beat  the  bushes,  did  not  discover  her.  At  length, 
after  spending  much  time  in  this  manner,  weary  of 
their  fruitless  efforts,  the  men  returned  to  their  leader, 
and  Captain  Preston  was  much  annoyed  at  this  mys- 
terious escape,  as  he  deemed  it.  If  the  late  occupant 
of  the  canoe  had  observed  their  arrival,  and  gone  for- 
ward to  give  intelligence,  it  was  of  the  first  importance 
to  depart  and  pursue  their  way  to  the  village  of  the 
far-famed  chief  Oneyda.  So,  after  observing  the  po- 
sition of  the  sun,  they  endeavored  to  keep  westward, 
and  commenced  their  march  through  the  mazes  of  the 
forest. 

When  all  became  still,  and  the  crackling  of  fallen 
branches  was  no  longer  audible,  Meahmee  tremblingly 


124  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

emerged  from  her  hiding-place,  and  cautiously  ap- 
proached the  spot  where  she  had  left  her  canoe,  but 
did  not  venture  to  descend  till  the  three  boats  had  dis- 
appeared ;  waiting  impatiently  till  the  sound  of  the 
oars  had  quite  diedaway,  with  a  deep  sigh  she  entered 
her  own  frail  bark,  and  with  a  heavy  heart  paddled  in 
the  direction  of  the  Indian  village. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Oneyda's  spirit  had  caught  fire  from  the  spark 
which  the  unconscious  Alice  had  thrown  out  in  her 
childish  vivacity  and  resentment  at  the  young  men. 
He  pondered  the  strange  fact  which  her  inadvertent 
remark  had  brought  to  light,  that  he,  a  great  and  pow- 
erful chief,  was  really  afraid  of  his  young  men,  and  in 
dread  of  them — daring  not  to  follow  the  inclination 
which  so  strongly  urged  him  to  rescue  his  protege  by 
more  direct  means  from  their  jealous  machinations. 
The  more  he  dwelt  upon  the  matter,  the  less  satisfied 
did  he  feel  with  the  long-practised  customs  of  his 
tribe  ;  and  it  might  be  that  his  own  sentiments  had  lost 
much  of  their  sternness,  rendering  him  less  capable 
of  yielding  the  stoical  obedience  which  savage  law 
required.  Unconscious  that  affection  for  Philip  was 
the  ruling  motive,  he  arrived  at  a  conclusion  which  to 
his  own  mind  justified  anything  he  might  propose  to 
himself  for  execution.  He  resolved  to  break  through 
the  barrier  which  barbarous  customs  had  so  long  up- 
held, and  become  arbitrary  master  of  the  people  he 
ruled.  But  Oneyda  was  too  much  the  Indian  to  ar- 
rive at  the  end  by  direct  means ;  he  could  not  help 
reflecting,  planning,  and  balancing,  ere  he  took  any 
step  of  importance,  and  subtlety  was  as  natural  to  him 
as  it  might  be  obligatory  to  an  ordinary  politician. 
What  a  civilized  but  worldly-wise  white  man  would 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  125 

have  deemed  policy,  Oneyda  naturally  esteemed  cred- 
itable deceit,  such  as  all  prudent  sachems  would  em- 
ploy to  accomplish  their  own  ends.  Of  one  thing  he 
assured  himself,  and  that  was  a  visit  to  the  captive 
when  night  should  fling  its  sudden  shadows  over  the 
village.  There  could  be  nothing  suspicious  then  ;  his 
people  would  have  retired,  and  they  should  have  evi- 
dent testimony  in  the  meanwhile  that  he  was  not  con- 
niving at  escape  or  treachery. 

None  who  could  have  seen  the  stately  Oneyda  pa- 
rading with  such  an  air  of  apathetic  haughtiness  the 
irregular  promenade  which  lay  in  front  of  the  council- 
lodge,  would  have  supposed  that  he  felt  either  anxie- 
ty or  apprehension,  so  abstracted  was  bis  demeanor, 
and  so  dignified  his  carriage.  He  seemed  to  tread  the 
earth  with  condescension,  and  as  if  his  deep-set  eye 
deigned  not  to  glance  at  it ;  indeed,  it  was  steadily 
fixed  upon  the  distance,  except  when  he  turned  in  his 
walk,  and  then  it  was  not  withdrawn  for  an  instant 
from  the  wigwam  before  which  Philip's  guard  stood 
statue-like.  Oneyda  was  greatly  respected  by  the 
men  of  his  tribe ;  old  and  young  venerated,  almost 
adored  him,  and  many  were  the  respectful  salutations 
and  difficult  glances  he  received  in  his  solitary  prome- 
nade, for  none  ventured  uninvited  to  join  him.  It  was 
plain  to  them  that  the  great  chief  was  holding  high 
and  dear  converse  with  his  father  and  grandsire,  both 
of  them  renowned  warriors,  who  at  this  moment  were 
doubtless  urging  him  to  take  a  refined  and  summary 
vengeance  on  the  ungrateful  Yengee,  who  had  repaid 
his  kindness  with  such  perfidious  defiance.  So  thought 
the  young  men,  and  so  feared  Appomax,  who  stood 
pensively  leaning  against  one  of  the  rude  pillars  of  the 
lodge,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  his  brother,  though  occa- 
sionally wandering  toward  the  prison-hut  which  con- 
tained his  dear  friend,  whom  he  pictured  to  himself 
as  there  pining  and  plunged  in  despair.  When  the 
idlers  had  dispersed,  and  but  one  or  two  remained 
upon  the  green,  Appomax  ventured  to  join  his  brother, 
but  an  expressive  sign  from  the  chief  caused  him  to 
il# 


120  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

withdraw  and  disappear  from  the  lodge.  Oneyda  had 
not  spoken,  but  Appomax  understood  the  direction  of 
his  glance,  and  obeyed  it.  He  continued  to  pace  the 
green  with  the  same  measured  and  majestic  tread  till 
the  red  of  the  glowing  west  had  faded  above  the  dis- 
tant trees,  and  he  knew  that  the  sun  must  have  sunk, 
and  the  summer  night  was  fast  coming  on.  Oneyda 
now  bent  his  steps  slowly  toward  the  river,  and  on  the 
way  was  accosted  by  Appomax,  who  had  preceded 
him  to  the  appointed  place  of  meeting. 

There  was  a  thrilling  plaintiveness  in  the  tones  of 
the  young  Indian  as  he  addressed  his  brother,  which 
seemed  to  effect  a  change  in  his  feelings  ;  for  Oneyda's 
manner  of  proud  dignity  instantly  appeared  influenced 
by  their  pathos,  and  melted  as  snow  in  sunshine,  be- 
coming cordial  and  affectionate  ;  he  spoke  in  low  but 
rapid  accents,  and  ere  he  had  uttered  a  few  sentences, 
Appomax  almost  bounded  from  the  earth,  uttering  an 
exclamation  of  joy,  but  he  was  immediately  checked 
by  his  brother's  ready  caution. 

"  Hush  !  let  not  my  brother's  voice  be  heard  ;  the 
night  winds  have  not  whispered  to  the  trees;  they  wait 
till  the  shadows  are  deeper  ;  let  them  not  tell  their 
tale  in  the  wigwam  of  Maneecho.  Shall  the  enemy 
of  Philip  hear  ?  No  !  hush,  speak  low,  my  son,  and 
he  will  soon  be  free." 

Appomax  repressed  his  delight  at  the  further  com- 
munications of  Oneyda,  who,  while  talking,  never  de- 
layed his  progress  to  the  river's  side,  where  he  expect- 
ed to  find  Meahmee  just  arriving.  They  waited  till 
twilight  had  faded,  and  the  stars  began  to  gleam  in 
the  dusky  sky,  and  the  outline  of  the  dark  woods  be- 
came fainter  and  fainter,  but  still  she  came  not.  Oney- 
da, who  would  have  felt  ashamed  to  betray  emotion 
in  the  presence  of  another,  could  not  now  rejoice  that 
the  darkness  hid  his  agitated  countenance  from  his 
brother,  whose  acute  ear  enabled  him  to  ascertain 
that  Oneyda  was  feeling  unwonted  anxiety  about 
Meahmee.     The  darkness  made  her  absence  only  the 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  127 

the  bank,  chiding  the  gloom,  and  lamenting  that  he 
had  sent  her  away  upon  so  difficult  an  enterprise, 
while  Appcmax  endeavored  to  cheer  him  with  the 
reasonable  expectation  that  she  would  arrive  at  last. 
The  night  was  remarkably  still ;  every  sound  of  nature 
was  hushed  to  calmness  ;  the  village  was  quiet ;  the 
woods  might  have  been  silenced  at  the  wish  of  the 
anxious  listeners  ;  nothing  was  heard  but  the  quick 
breathing  of  Oneyda,  and  the  gentle  plaintive  tones  of 
his  brother,  who  occasionally  uttered  some  plausible 
conjecture  respecting  the  absent  Meahmee.  At  length 
the  long-wished-for  sound  was  heard,  and  Oneyda 
flew  along  the  brink  of  the  river  in  the  direction 
whence  the  plashing  of  oars  in  the  water  seemed  to 
proceed.  He  strained  his  eyes,  and  called  loudly 
upon  the  name  of  his  wife  ;  but  suddenly  all  was  still 
again,  and,  unable  to  account  for  so  strange  a  decep- 
tion, he  rejoined  Appomax,  greatly  wondering  at  the 
mystery. 

"  She  will  not  come,"  said  Appomax;  "  her  father 
and  mother  have  given  her  a  mat  in  their  wigwam  to- 
night, and  she  stays  to  sleep  there,  as  the  night  is 
dark." 

"Yes,  it  is  so,"  replied  Oneyda,  gloomily;  "yet 
why  does  a  wife  leave  the  wigwam  of  her  husband  ? 
I  told  her  I  should  wait  at  the  river  when  the  sun 
slept,  and  her  footsteps  are  swifter  than  the  fawn's 
when  Oneyda  calls.  See,  another  star  is  burning 
above  the  sumachs,  but  the  light  of  Meahmee's  eyes 
will  not  shine  on  my  hearth  to-night;  it  will  be  very- 
dark,  brother." 

The  youth  listened  with  secret  surprise  at  this 
avowal  of  tenderness,  and  thought  his  brother  much 
changed  toward  his  gentle  wife,  who,  though  she  had 
ever  been  treated  kindly  by  Oneyda,  had  never  ap- 
peared to  be  an  object  of  such  great  interest  to  her 
husband.  However  well  Oneyda  might  behave  to 
her  in  private,  Meahmee  received  no  attention  from 
him  in  public  ;  yet,  apparently,  she  was  the  happiest  as 
well  as  the  most  interesting  woman  of  the  whole  tribe. 


128  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

The  brothers  at  length  walked  homeward,  but  in- 
stead of  entering  his  own  wigwam,  Oneyda  led  the  way 
to  the  prisoner's  hut.  An  Indian  was  standing  motion- 
less before  the  door ;  a  large  torch  was  placed  in  the 
ground  at  a  little  distance,  at  which  the  chief  lighted 
a  smaller  brand,  and  bidding  Appomax  retire  out  of 
sight,  he  went  up  to  the  guard  and  requested  him  to 
open  the  door.  The  savage  hesitated,  and  Oneyda 
raised  his  flambeau  to  obtain  a  better  view  of  his 
countenance.  It  was  that  of  Maneecho,  the  inveter- 
ate enemy  of  his  protege,  and  the  chief  sternly  scruti- 
nized him.  He  then  spoke  a  few  words  in  a  tone 
which  made  the  young  man's  heart  beat,  and,  pushing 
him  aside,  unfastened  the  door  and  quietly  entered 
the  hut. 

All  was  still.  The  kindness  of  Meahmee  had  pro- 
vided a  mat  for  her  adopted  son  to  sleep  upon,  and  an- 
other to  serve  as  a  coverlet  to  his  rude  couch.  There 
he  lay  peacefully  sleeping,  one  arm  thrown  over  his 
head,  and  his  face  fully  exposed  to  the  light.  Oneyda 
stood  for  some  moments  intently  gazing  upon  the 
captive,  noting  with  admiration  each  well-developed 
muscle,  and  the  outline  of  a  form  of  youthful  sym- 
metry ;  he  marked,  too,  the  peculiarly  placid  expres- 
sion of  Philip's  features,  though  deficient  neither  in 
dignity  nor  firmness.  Oneyda  felt  humbled  by  the 
contrast  thus  strikingly  presented  to  him  between  him- 
self and  his  defenceless  captive,  whose  superiority, 
eveu  in  moments  of  unconsciousness,  he  acknowl- 
edged and  respected. 

"  He  shall  be  free !"  he  muttered  as  he  turned  away  ; 
for  he  would  not  disturb  slumbers  so  tranquil  and  in- 
nocent, and  quitted  the  hut.  The  crafty  Maneecho 
had  heard  these  words,  and  they  inflamed  every  evil 
passion  of  his  revengeful  heart.  He  knew  that  he 
had  no  power  to  oppose  the  will  of  his  chief,  should 
the  latter  interpose  to  save  his  intended  victim,  and  he 
began  to  feel  far  too  insecure  of  the  perfect  vengeance 
he  had  promised  himself.  He  paused  a  moment,  and 
then,  rapidly  unsheathing  his  knife,  gently  unfastened 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  129 

the  door  and  entered  in  darkness.  He  groped  his  way 
to  the  mat,  where  Philip  still  slej  t.  But  his  murder- 
ous purpose  was  arrested,  even  as  he  raised  his  hand 
to  strike,  for  he  staggered  and  fell  heavily  to  the 
ground,  himself  wounded  in  the  back  by  an  unseen 
hand.  Maneecho  writhed  for  a  few  moments  under 
the  double  torture  of  baffled  revenge  and  the  agony  of 
his  wound,  and  fainted  at  the  feet  of  Philip. 

When  Oneyda  reached  the  door  of  his  own  hut,  he 
heard  a  low  chanting  from  within,  and,  much  sur- 
prised, paused  a  few  moments  to  listen.  Great  was 
his  joy  upon  recognising  the  sweet  tones  of  Meah- 
mee's  voice,  who  was  rocking  her  baby  to  sleep  in 
the  little  cradle  which  the  ingenuity  of  Philip  had 
constructed.  Rushing  into  the  dwelling,  Oneyda 
greeted  his  wife  with  every  demonstration  of  delight 
at  seeing  her  safe  at  home  once  more;  and,  overjoyed 
at  such  unusual  attentions,  Meahmee  could  scarcely 
find  words  to  reply  to  the  many  interested  inquiries 
he  made  concerning  her  voyage  and  return.  It  was  no 
new  thing  to  be  treated  kindly  by  her  husband,  but 
she  had  been  little  accustomed  to  hear  him  express 
anxiety  and  distress  at  not  finding  her  where  she  had 
promised  to  meet  him  at  a  certain  hour,  or  to  see  joy 
and  tenderness  sparkling  in  his  eyes  at  her  safe  return, 
or  to  receive  food  from  his  hand  because  she  was 
weary — that  she  almost  forgot  everything  save  the  in- 
tense delight  of  the  present  moment.  She  felt  like 
some  little  bird  restored  to  the  parent  nest  after  peril 
and  exposure,  never  to  be  torn  thence  again  :  no  queen 
upon  the  mightiest  of  earth's  thrones  could  be  hap- 
pier, or  have  fewer  wishes  ungratified,  than  the  simple 
Meahmee  while  receiving  the  still  dignified  but  affec- 
tionate attentions  of  her  husband. 


130  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

The  morning  sun  rose  brightly  upon  the  village  of 
the  Wyannows,  and  its  inhabitants  were  stirring  early. 
The  whole  tribe  seemed  to  be  in  commotion.  Oney- 
da  had  quitted  his  wigwam  soon  after  re-entering  it, 
and  had  visited  the  dwelling  of  every  chief  warrior ; 
before  dawn  he  had  held  a  council  with  the  old  men 
in  the  lodge  ;  and  now  was  seen  making  his  way 
through  the  throng  which  had  so  suddenly  assembled 
to  the  prisoner's  hut,  with  a  ruffled  air,  far  different 
from  his  demeanor  of  the  preceding  day.  His  dress, 
too,  was  changed  :  that  is  to  say,  he  was  now  accou- 
tred in  the  full  costume  of  a  warrior  chieftain.  The 
bright  lines  indicative  of  the  character  of  his  warfare 
were  carefully  painted  in  their  proper  colors  upon  his 
arms  and  legs  ;  his  hunting-shirt  of  doe-skin  was 
beautifully  wrought  in  feathers  ;  and  upon  his  mantle 
were  pictured  the  deeds  he  had  performed,  in  the  rude 
style  of  savage  artists.  The  precious  metals  were  not 
wanting  to  add  richness  to  his  attire :  the  plumed  crest 
of  his  tribe  and  rank  gave  a  few  inches  to  his  stature ; 
and  at  every  step  his  glittering  weapons  rattled  and 
shook  as  if  to  give  intimation  of  the  chafed  spirit  of 
him  who  so  proudly  wore  them.  A  few  hasty  strides 
brought  him  to  the  door  of  the  hut ;  the  guard  was 
absent,  and  the  fastening  undone.  He  started  !  Per- 
haps the  jirisoner  had  escaped  ;  and  if  so,  then  had  he 
lost  one  unspeakably  dear  to  him.  He  entered  ;  and 
what  was  his  surprise  to  find  Philip  still  sleeping,  for 
it  was  yet  very  early,  and  Maneecho  stretched  to  all 
appearance  lifeless  on  the  ground  by  his  side.  A 
fierce  smile  passed  over  the  dark  features  of  Oneyda, 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  131 

and  he  stood  awhile  irresolutely  regarding  the  scene. 
Appearances  were  strongly  against  Philip,  and  would 
render  the  task  of  liberating  him  extremely  difficult. 
He  scarcely  knew  what  to  do  ;  but,  after  further  re- 
flection, roused  the  sleeping  captive,  who  was  instant- 
ly called  to  consciousness  by  the  well-known  voice  of 
his  friend. 

"  Oneyda  !"  cried  the  youth,  starting  to  his  feet, 
"you  are  come  to  deliver  me;  I  dreamed  that  you 
were  by  my  side — that  you  saved  me  from  a  cruel 
death  ;  but  oh!  what  is  this  ?"  recoiling,  as  he  spoke, 
in  horror  from  the  insensible  savage,  whose  cold  form 
he  at  that  moment  touched.  Oneyda  narrowly  scru- 
tinised him. 

"  Who  did  this,  my  son  ?" 

"  Who,  indeed  ?"  said  Philip,  compassionately 
stooping,  and,  raising  the  drooping  head  of  his  enemy, 
he  carefully  examined  him.  "  There  may  yet  be  life ; 
oh,  Oneyda,  quick  !  Can  we  do  nothing  for  him  ? 
Why  tis  the  image  of  my  dream!  I  dreamt  last 
night  that  the  knife  of  Maneecho  was  at  my  throat ; 
but  that  you — no,  some  other  person — saved  me,  but 
not  thus  :  Appomax oh  !  get  help  instantly." 

"  Stay !"  said  Oneyda,  in  a  tone  which  startled 
Philip  by  its  nervousness  ;  but  it  was  the  quivering 
of  hardly  suppressed  rage  against  which  he  seemed 
struggling.  "This  dog  has  died  as  he  deserved,  and 
why  should  we  call  to  his  father  or  his  brothers : — 
but  your  dream,  my  son  ;  and  what  of  Appomax  ?" 

Philip  was  perplexed,  and  endeavored  to  recall  the 
features  of  his  dream,  but  all  was  confused. 

"Who  calls  Appomax?  He  is  here:"  and  the 
young  Indian  glided  in  through  an  opening  he  had 
made  by  loosening  the  planks  of  which  one  side  of 
the  rude  building  was  constructed.  Oneyda  pointed 
in  expressive  silence  toward  the  body  of  Maneecho  ; 
but  his  arm  trembled  so  excessively  that  he  could  not 
hold  it  long  outstretched  and  it  fell  to  his  side,  sha- 
king his  dazzling  weapons  with  an  ominous  sound. 
Philip  occupied  himself  solely  with  endeavoring  to 


132  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

ascertain  the  extent  of  Maneecho's  injury,  and  for  a 
short  time  nattered  himself  that  life  was  not  yet  ex- 
tinct. He  tore  from  his  own  person  part  of  his  attire 
wherewith  to  stanch  the  gaping  wound  ;  but  the 
blood  had  become  a  coagulated  mass,  and  he  was  at 
last  obliged  to  realize  the  painful  truth  that  the  unfor- 
tunate savage  was  now  far  beyond  the  reach  of  pity 
or  of  prayer.  The  brothers  stood  silently  regarding 
one  another.  A  spell  had  fallen  upon  the  whole  par- 
ty; but  a  hubbub  of  voices  was  now  heard  without, 
and  a  crowd  approached  the  wigwam. 

At  a  sign  from  Oneyda,  Appomax  threw  open  the 
door,  and  the  father  and  brothers  of  the  dead  rushed 
in.  They  beheld  the  sad  spectacle  with  clamorous 
grief;  but  rage  and  fury  succeeded  to  this  first  emo- 
tion. They  would  have  immolated  Philip  upon  the 
spot  but  for  the  presence,  of  Oneyda,  whose  tone  of 
calm  authority  was  not  to  be  withstood  ;  for  he  placed 
himself  before  the  captive,  and  as  soon  as  the  friends 
of  the  deceased  had  become  less  noisy  addressed  them 
quietly  and  simply,  relating  how  he  had  found  the 
prisoner  sleeping,  with  Maneecho  dead  at  his  feet. 
They  knew  that  he  had  been  deprived  of  his  weapons 
when  brought  thither  ;  and  the  dead  warrior  was  still 
clenching  his  own  tomahawk  unstained  in  his  own 
hand.  It  was  evident  that  his  intentions  had  been 
most  dishonorable  and  murderous  ;  he  had  thought  to 
kill  the  captive  alone  and  in  secret,  without  consulting 
any  one,  and  had  reaped  the  reward  of  his  treachery. 
Could  Philip  be  the  murderer,  who  was  now  bending 
over  the  body  with  such  earnest  sadness  and  had 
bound  up  the  wounds  with  portions  of  his  own  dress? 
They  regarded  Philip  with  unfeigned  astonishment, 
and  stoodin  deepest  perplexity.  Here  was  indeed  a 
mystery,  and  many  heads  were  shaken.  But  when 
they  saw  Philip  about  to  depart  with  the  chief  and 
Appomax  they  exclaimed  loudly,  and  insisted  upon 
his  detention.  Oneyda  haughtily  waved  his  hand  in 
the  direction  of  the  open  door,  saying,  as  he  laid  the 
other  upon  Philip's  shoulder: — 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  133 

"  He  is  mine !  Death  has  buried  all  jealous  words, 
and  my  son  shall  return  to  his  father's  wigwam.  Go ! 
take  Maneecho ;  he  shall  have  a  brave's  burial,  and 
we  will  lay  the  scalps  of  our  enemies  upon  his  grave. 
The  Yengee  is  eagle-hearted ;  he  shall  live  for  his  red 
fathers.     I  am  a  great  chief.     Go." 

The  countenance  and  attitude  of  Oneyda  expressed 
an  authority  which  none  present  could  gainsay,  and 
every  voice  was  hushed,  and  each  face  grew  calm  and 
submissive ;  they  all  left  the  wigwam  in  order,  bear- 
ing the  bodjr  away  to  the  hut  of  his  father,  each  pas- 
sing his  chief  with  a  profound  salutation.  Philip 
stood  mournfully  gazing  after  the  procession,  and 
Appomax  appeared  unable  to  congratulate  his  friend 
upon  his  liberty;  Oneyda  alone  was  active;  he  smiled 
more  proudly  than  ever,  and  motioned  to  his  com- 
panions to  hasten  their  departure. 

But  Philip  would  not  leave  the  prison,  where  he 
had  so  lately  learned  to  prepare  for  death,  without 
thanking  his  Heavenly  Father  upon  his  knees  for  his 
deliverance  ;  and  his  companions,  so  far  from  betray- 
ing any  impatience  at  the  delay,  waited  in  the  door- 
way till  he  was  ready ;  Appomax  regarding  his  friend 
with  reverent  attention,  and  Oneyda  standing  with 
downcast  eyes  and  an  expression  of  ill-concealed  won- 
der upon  his  countenance. 

Meahmee  flew  to  welcome  her  adopted  son,  and  set 
before  him  the  most  sumptuous  breakfast  her  stores 
afforded  ;  but  Philip  looked  around  for  his  sister. 
She  had  gone  out  for  her  customary  morning  ramble 
ere  any  one  could  prevent,  but  would  doubtless  soon 
return.  Philip  finished  his  breakfast,  but  still  she 
came  not;  and  Oneyda  looked  anxiously  at  his  wife, 
and  she  at  the  corner  where  their  child  generally  lay, 
but  he  too  was  gone.  Philip  declared  that  he  would 
go  in  search  of  them,  and  bring  both  back  speedily. 
"  Little  truant,"  he  thought,  "she  knows  not  that  1 
am  free." 

He  walked  toward  the  river,  and  on  the  way  saw 
much  that  surprised  him.  The  children  were  group- 
12 


134  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

ed  in  a  strong  body  under  the  trees,  and  the  larger 
boys  were  practising  with  their  bows  and  arrows. 
Alice  was  not  among  them.  The  morning  was  bright 
and  genial,  and  all  Nature  seemed  to  smile  benignantly 
upon  him.  The  sunshine  without  was  in  harmony 
with  his  own  cheerful  thoughts,  and  a  deep  enthusi- 
astic thankfulness  filled  his  heart  with  emotions  which 
winged  their  way  heavenward  in  many  a  silent  aspi- 
ration. But  his  happiness  reached  its  climax  when 
he  heard  the  sweet  voice  of  his  sister  and  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her  figure.  She  had  been  tempted  to  take 
a  bath  in  the  stream,  its  waters  looked  so  inviting,  and 
had  just  completed  her  toilet  when  Philip  addressed 
her.  The  baby  had  been  allowed  to  play  upon  the 
bank,  and  was  now  pulling  flowers  to  pieces,  occa- 
sionally holding  out  a  few  to  his  young  nurse.  Alice 
uttered  a  scream  of  joy  at  sight  of  Philip,  and  flew 
toward  him.  "  Oh  !  Philip,  did  not  I  tell  thee  thou 
wouldst  soon  be  free;  and,  I'm  sure  summer  is  come, 
and  we  shall  go  home  !"  and  she  clapped  her  hands 
in  the  ecstacy  of  her  anticipations. 

"It  is,  it  is  !"  cried  a  person  very  near  them;  and 
in  another  moment  Alice  was  grasped  by  the  sturdy 
hand  of  Ralph  Giles. 

"  Well,  now,  for  sure,:  it  is  our  own  sweet  little 
Mistress  Alice  !  Dear,  dear,  this  is  the  best  bit  of 
luck  that  ever  happened  ;  come  along  with  me,  dar- 
ling. Well,  I  never  knew  anything  like  it;  indeed, 
never!" 

Alice  returned  his  affectionate  salute  with  all  her 
heart ;  but  Philip  stood  bewildered  and  overcome  by 
this  unexpected  apparition.  While  his  sister  was 
assailing  Giles  with  question  upon  question,  and  the 
honest  fellow  was  indulging  in  every  expression  of 
delight  which  he  could  command,  his  companion,  an 
officer  in  the  dress  of  an  English  cavalier,  stood  aloof 
for  a  few  moments,  eying  the  whole  scene  with  much 
interest,  yet  unwilling  to  intrude  upon  emotions  so 
precious ;  but  as  Giles  was  evidently  incapable  of 
stirring  from  the  spot  so  long  as  Alice's  arms  were 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  135 

clasped  about  his  neck,  he  thought  it  best  to  remind 
him  of  the  value  of  every  minute,  and  to  suggest  that 
he  proceeded  with  his  charge  to  the  boats. 

"Well,  my  dear  little  mistress,"  said  Ralph,  smil- 
ing through  tears  which  glistened  in  his  eyes  as  he 
gazed  upon  the  long-lost  child,  "where  shall  we  find 
Master  Philip  ?  But,  stay  ;  I'd  better  take  you  off 
quietly,  and  then,  when  you're  safe,  we  can  easily 
find  him.  But,  Captain  Smith,  l'se  thinking  you 
might  tie  up  that  youngster  there,  to  quiet  him,  or  we 
shall  be  found  out;  and  now,  little  lady,  tell  us  where 
we  may  get  at  Master  Philip  when  we  come  back?" 

Alice  laughed  merrily.  "  He's  near  enough,  Ralph 
Giles,  if  thou  hast  any  eyes." 

Ralph  stared  and  looked  again,  and  drew  nearer. 
"Well,  well,"  he  exclaimed  hastily,  placing  the  little 
girl  upon  the  bank,  "this  is  a  day  of  wonders,  that 
both  should  be  here  just  to  our  hand,  like;  but  in- 
deed, Mistress  Alice,  I  am  blind,  for  sure  I  see  no 
Master  Philip  at  all.  My  word,  the  jacknapes  is  stir- 
ring :  we  must  fix  him  at  any  rate.  Why  he's  wil- 
ling to  be  caught,  l'se  thinking,  to  be  standing  staring 
there." 

"  Very  willing,  honest  Ralph.  I  can  assure  thee," 
said  Philip,  holding  out  his  hand  to  his  faithful  friend, 
who  lifted  up  his  eyes  and  hands  in  amazement,  which 
for  a  moment  or  two  seemed  to  deprive  him  of  the 
power  of  speech.  But  when  those  well-remembered 
accents  reached  his  heart,  he  was  almost  beside  him- 
self with  joy.  He  took  Philip's  proffered  hand  and 
shook  it  heartily,  and  his  expressions  of  delight  were 
so  boisterous  that  his  prudent  companion  thought 
proper  to  remind  him  once  more  of  the  flight  of  time, 
and  how  much  the  safety  of  his  precious  charge  de- 
pended upon  caution,  and  that  they  must  all  be  quiet. 

"  It's  easy  for  you  to  talk,  captain  ;  but  how  was  I 
to  know  Master  Philip  in  that  mountebank  fashion  ? 
Why,  he  looks  as  like  an  Indian  as  any. of  them;  but, 
for  all  that,  l'se  glad  to  see  you,  my  young  master, 


136  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

and  the  first  sound  of  your  voice  was  like  to  break  my 
heart. 

"And  what  are  we  to  do?"  asked  Philip,  eagerly. 
The  moment  was  come  at  length  which  he  had  so 
longed  for — the  realization  of  his  dreams ;  and  yet, 
when  liberty  was  in  his  grasp,  he  felt  an  involuntary 
pang  at  the  thought  of  leaving  thus  abruptly  his  kind 
protectors,  the  well-intentioned  beings  who  had  shown 
him  so  much  love  and  hospitality  ever  since  he  had 
dwelt  among  them.  It  was  so  ungrateful  to  leave 
Oneyda  and  his  generous  brother,  and  the  kind  gentle 
Meahmee,  who  had  been  as  a  mother  to  him,  without 
a  word  of  regret.  He  urged  these  feelings  in  excuse 
for  not  instantly  complying  with  the  entreaties  of  his 
friends  to  depart  at  once,  while  they  might  do  it  se- 
cretly. 

"  It  can  not  be  Philip  Randolph,"  said  Smith,  who 
at  heart  admired  these  sentiments  ;  "  our  mission  is 
most  perilous,  and  every  moment's  delay  adds  to  its 
danger.  Our  departure  must  be  prompt  and  instant. 
Ralph  Giles,  do  you  take  the  little  girl  on  your  shoul- 
der and  set  forth." 

Alice's  heart  was  overflowing  with  happiness,  and 
she  thought  of  nothing  but  the  pleasure  of  riding 
upon  Ralph's  shoulder,  as  in  former  days,  and  quite 
forgot  her  little  charge  and  everything  else  she  had 
cared  for  in  the  morning  ere  she  quitted  the  wigwam. 
The  present  was  the.  ail  of  the  volatile  child,  and  she 
was  borne  away,  without  a  pang  of  regret,  from  the 
scene  of  her  late  enjoyments,  willing  to  enter  upon 
novelties,  and  most  happy  to  be  restored  to  an  old 
friend's  protection.  All  this  was  natural  to  Alice,  but 
her  brother  still  paused.  Captain  Smith  urged  him 
in  vain  to  quit  the  spot ;  he  looked  at  Meahmee's 
child,  and  said,  firmly, 

"  I  must  first  take  back  this  child  to  his  mother ;  1 
promised  to  do  so  ten  minutes  ago,  and  I  can  not 
leave  her  thus  ungratefully." 

"  1  admire  your  generous  conduct  greatly,  Philip 
Randolph,  but  it  is  now  misplaced  ;  the  child  will 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  137 

take  no  harm  ;  and  my  promise  is  given  to  your  father 
that  you  shall  return  with  me.  The  way  is  clear,  and 
our  opportunity  may  be  lost  if  we  delay ;  so  follow 
me." 

"My  father!"  repeated  Philip,  in  a  faltering  tone, 
while  the  tears  rose  fast  to  his  eyes,  and  his  lip  quiv- 
ered with  an  emotion  which  promised  well  for  Cap- 
tain Smith's  proposition;  "God  knows  how  I  yearn 
to  see  my  father's  face,  but  I  may  not  desert  this  help- 
less baby.  I  will  soon  return,  and  do  you,  sir,  with- 
draw :  I  will  rejoin  you  at  the  creek  above  this  spot, 
in  a  few  minutes." 

"  There  goes  the  worthy  son  of  his  father,"  thought 
Smith,  as  he  watched  the  retreating  form  of  Philip ; 
and  when  he  had  quite  disappeared,  he  himself  turned 
to  dep;irt. 

Philip  flew  up  the  steep  ascent  which  led  to  the  vil- 
lage, and,  as  he  drew  nearer,  heard  distinctly  the 
sounds  of  chanting  and  the  tramp  of  many  footsteps. 
Upon  arriving  at  the  green,  he  beheld  a  large  body  of 
warriors  dancing  their  war-dance  and  shouting  their 
discordant  song  of  battle.  Contrary  to  the  custom  of 
many  tribes,  their  chief  stood  apart  among  the  circle 
of  old  men,  above  whom  his  majestic  form  towered 
conspicuously,  and  ever  and  anon  his  plume  waved  in 
unison  with  the  energetic  eloquence  he  was  then 
using. 

When  his  oration  was  ended,  he  looked  around 
with  an  air  of  discontent  and  impatience.  The  curl- 
ing of  his  lip  might  indicate  the  contempt  he  felt  at 
the  absurd  usages  of  his  barbarous  and  unenlightened 
subjects.  He  did  not  condescend  to  join  in  the  war- 
dance  or  add  his  voice  to  the  terrific  yell  which  rent 
the  air  with  its  discord.  Philip  turned  not  aside,  but 
went  onwatd  to  the  wigwam  of  Oneyda.  He  placed 
the  child  in  Meahmee's  hands,  and  his  own  trembled 
as  he  did  so.  "  How  can  I  leave  her  thus  ungrateful- 
ly," he  thought,  "  wiihout  a  word  of  kindness  ;  and 
what  will  Oneyda  think  of  me  ?  Oh,  Heavenly  Fa- 
ther, guide  me  ;  teach  me  what  to  do  !" 
12* 


138  PHTLIP    RANDOLPH. 

Meahmee  inquired  why  the  golden  hair  came  not. 
"  She  is  a  sad  truant,  mother;  but  I  will  go  again  and 
seek  her." 

Philip  rejoiced  that  he  could  speak  the  truth,  and 
hoped  that  the  squaw  would  not  ask  him  any  ques- 
tions to  which  he  might  not  be  able  to  reply  evasively. 

"My  son,"  said  Meahmee,  timidly,  "Appomax 
will  go  ;  there  is  danger.  Oneyda  said,  '  Let  Philip 
stay ;  a  dark  cloud  is  over  our  village  to-day.'  Go 
not  forth,  my  son." 

"  Nay,  mother,  if  there  be  danger  I  ought  to  pro- 
tect my  sister,"  and  he  turned  to  depart,  though  with 
so  much  agitation  that  the  watchful  eye  of  Appomax 
observed  his  unusual  emotion  ;  and  placing  himself 
in  the  doorway,  he  entreated  him  to  remain,  declaring 
his  willingness  to  go  in  quest  of  Alice.  To  this, 
Philip,  of  course,  did  not  accede,  and  accomplished 
his  purpose  of  leaving  the  hut.  But  just  as  he  was 
darting  across  the  green,  every  joyous  hope  and  long- 
cherished  anticipation  winging  his  footsteps,  he  was 
suddenly  arrested  by  a  cry,  which,  in  its  horrific 
shrillness,  seemed  to  fall  upon  his  heart  with  the 
weight  of  a  death-blow,  chilling  every  bright  thought 
and  stagnating  every  pulse  of  hope  within  him. 

But  the  cry  was  succeeded  by  many  more,  and  the 
din  grew  louder.  The  clash  of  weapons  was  next 
heard,  mingling  with  the  shrieks  of  affrighted  women 
and  children.  They  came  rushing  over  the  plain, 
wildly  mixing  with  the  warriors  thus  suddenly  inter- 
rupted in  their  preparations.  The  way  toward  the 
river  was  completely  blocked  up,  and  so  great  was  the 
confusion  that  Philip  could  only  gather  from  appear- 
ances that  some  unexpected  attack  had  been  made 
upon  the  Wyannows,  though,  as  yet,  he  could  not 
distinguish  the  foe.  But  now,  above  the  shouting  of 
the  multitude,  was  heard  the  report  of  firearms,  and  vol- 
ley after  volley  succeeded.  Not  many  of  the  savages 
had  seen  or  heard  these  formidable  and  destructive 
arms,  and  their  terror  and  amazement  were  so  great 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  139 

that,  though  brave  and  determined,  they  shrank  from 
the  encounter  with  a  species  of  superstitious  dread. 

The  old  men  could  not  join  in  the  fight,  and  looked 
on  with  anxious  hearts,  though  too  stoical  to  betray 
their  feelings  even  to  one  another.  It  was  for  them 
to  plan  a  method  of  escape  for  the  women  and  chil- 
dren; and  they  hastened  the  flight  of  all  they  could 
assemble  toward  the  river,  on  that  side  of  the  village 
yet  free  from  attack.  By  making  a  short  circuit  it 
was  still  possible  for  many  to  escape  without  interrup- 
tion from  the  enemy ;  but  not  a  few  already  lay  life- 
less or  dying  upon  the  ground,  and  others,  wounded, 
or  stupified  by  terror,  were  unable  to  follow  those 
who  were  flying  from  the  dangerous  fire.  Philip, 
with  entire  unselfishness,  endeavored  to  persuade 
Meahmee  to  retreat,  offering  to  escort  her  to  the  ca- 
noe which  always  stood  moored  in  its  special  har- 
bor; but  she  would  not  quit  the  spot  which  she 
had  chosen,  and  whence  she  could  see  the  plume  of 
eagle's  feathers  and  occasionally  obtain  a  glimpse  of 
Oneyda's  form. 

When  Philip  saw  that  his  persuasions  were  thrown 
away,  he  turned  to  others  who  equally  needed  his 
care.  Many  a  bewildered  child  he  raised  from  the 
ground  and  hurried  forward  to  join  the  departing 
crowd.  But  sometimes  he  was  called  to  the  wigwam 
door  by  the  clash  of  weapons,  and  those  of  Appomax 
were  already  stained  by  collision  with  some  daring 
intruder.  In  spite  of  the  resistance  made  by  the 
youthful  sentinel,  who  now  fought  like  a  true  warrior, 
a  soldier  effected  an  entrance,  and  Philip  had  only 
time  to  rush  in  and  throw  himself  before  Meahmee. 
How  did  his  heart  sicken  at  sight  of  a  human  being,  a 
civilized  man,  with  sabre  upraised  and  aimed  at  the 
head  of  a  defenceless  woman  ! 

"  Stay,  stay  !"  he  cried,  "  I  am  Philip  Randolph, 
and  for  my  sake  spare  this  woman  ;  she  has  been  a 
mother  to  me  in  my  captivity." 

The  man  instantly  dropped  his  weapon,  and,  after 
examining  Philip's  face  and   dress,  replied,    "Well, 


140  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

master,  I  do  it  at  your  bidding;  but  my  orders  are  to 
kill  every  woman  and  child  and  old  man,  for  we've  a 
lesson  to  teach  them  that  they  wont  forget  in  a  hurry. 
But  you  had  better  stay  in  these  quarters,  youngster, 
and  then  we  shall  know  where  to  find  you  when  the 
work's  over."  The  man  departed  as  quickly  as  he 
had  entered,  unmolested  by  Appomax,  whose  eyes, 
however,  glared  fiercely  on  him  as  he  passed  out 
within  the  reach  of  his  tomahawk. 

Meahmee  had  been  so  alarmed  that  she  now  con- 
sented to  follow  Philip's  advice,  and  was  quite  willing 
to  fly  as  soon  as  an  opening  could  be  made  for  her  in 
the  throng  ;  but  her  agitation  and  distress  were  so  ex- 
cessive that  she  could  scarcely  stand  unsupported. 

Smith  looked  for  Philip  Randolph  and  called  upon 
his  name  repeatedly,  but  the  object  of  his  solicitude 
was  then  engaged  in  assisting  Meahmee  to  escape,  as 
also  two  wounded  children  whom  he  carried  in  his 
arms.  Their  retreat  was  covered  by  the  lion-hearted 
Appomax,  and  their  flight  accelerated  by  a  pressure 
from  the  crowd  behind  them.  Filled  with  a  gener- 
ous anxiety  about  Meahmee,  Philip  thought  not  of 
his  own  freedom,  and  that  of  Alice  being  secured,  he 
was  less  careful  for  personal  safety.  He  had  the  hap- 
piness to  place  the  squaw  and  her  child  with  the  two 
young  Indians  whom  he  had  rescued,  in  a  canoe  ;  and 
then,  turning  to  Appomax,  requested  him  to  follow 
and  take  charge  of  them  to  some  place  of  safety,  but 
Appomax  drew  back. 

"  And  you,  my  brother,"  said  he,  inquiringly, 
"  where  do  you  go  ?" 

"  Ask  me  not,"  answered  Philip  ;  "  I  must  away. 
Farewell,  dear  kind  friends  ;  may  God  bless  you  and 
lead  you  into  his.  truth." 

He  was  bounding  away,  when  Appomax  firmly 
seized  his  arm.  The  eye  of  the  young  savage  glis- 
tened, and  his  voice  was  very  tremulous  as  he  replied, 
"  My  brother  is  going,  and  he  will  never  come  back ; 
when  he  is  gone  to  his  people  the  heart  of  Appomax 
will  wither  ;  he  will  sorrow  because  your  voice  is  si- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  141 

lent ;  he  will  never-  learn  wisdom.     Oh,  my  brother  ! 
if  you  leave  us  the  sunshine  will  be  darkness." 

Philip  was  much  affected  and  could  scarcely  an- 
swer. "  But,  Appomax,  we  may  meet  again ;  how 
shall  I  stay  when  the  voice  of  my  father  and  my  moth- 
er calls  me?  1  shall  never  forget  you;  but  I  must 
away.  Farewell,  Appomax  !  why  would  you  keep 
me  from  liberty  ?  We  shall  meet  again  ;  I  will  go 
and  try  to  make  peace  for  your  people,  and  you  shall 
come  and  visit  me  in  my  father's  house." 

But  Appomax  was  not  to  be  comforted.  With  a 
mournful  farewell  he  wrung  his  friend's  hand,  and, 
relinquishing  his  firm  grasp  on  Philip's  arm,  turned 
away  and  sprang  into  the  canoe.  Philip  did  not  trust 
himself  to  say  another  word  ;  he  had  already  suffered 
much  by  delay,  and,  plunging  into  the  crowd  once 
more,  made  his  way  unheeded  to  the  green.  He 
went  on,  seeing  and  hearing  nothing  but  the  imploring 
looks  of  Appomax  and  the  pathetic  tones  of  his  voice. 
Yet  liberty  invited  him  smilingly  forward.  He  look- 
ed toward  the  spot  where  he  had  last  seen  Preston, 
and  to  that  point  directed  his  efforts  as  if  life  and 
death  hung  upon  its  attainment. 

He  could  not  pass  directly  to  the  desired  spot,  and 
was  compelled  to  turn  aside  in  order  to  avoid  the  shot 
that  was  whistling  round  him;  so  he  determined  to 
make  for  the  wood,  hoping  to  gain  the  river's  brink 
by  a  pathway  familiar  to  him.  When  he  reached  the 
first  clump  of  trees,  what  was  his  horror  to  behold, 
surrounded  by  numbers  of  slain,  the  very  protector 
he  had  been  seeking !  Captain  Preston  lay  dead 
upon  the  field  of  carnage. 

At  a  little  distance  from  him,  almost  insensible,  and 
dangerously  wounded,  was  stretched  the  Wyannow 
chief.  At  the  sound  of  an  approaching  footstep,  he 
opened,  his  languid  eyes  and  raised  a  feeble  arm, 
which  instantly  sank  into  its  recumbent  posture. 
Philip  flew  toward  him,  and  kneeling  down  upon  the 
blood-stained  turf,  bent  over  him,  and  said,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  Indian : — 


142  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

"  Oneyda,  'tis  your  son,  'tis  Philip  ;  what  shall  he 
do  for  you  ?" 

The  warrior's  stern  countenance  relaxed  as  he  said, 
faintly,  "  Who  calls  for  Oneyda  ?  He  was  a  great 
chief,  and  is  gone  to  the  happy  hunting  grounds. 
But,  is  it  Philip  ?  Raise  me,  my  son,  that  I  may  look 
at  my  young  men;  and  bind  my  arm  and  stop  the 
stream  of  life;  it  flows  fast,  fast,  Philip;  and  the 
Yengee  is  at  the  door  of  my  wigwam." 

Philip  complied  with  his  request,  and  assured  him 
that  Meahmee  was  safe  :  that  she  and  her  child  had 
escaped  with  Appomax.  A  smile  lit  up  the  dark 
features  of  the  Indian ;  they  wore  a  humanized  ex- 
pression, tender  and  parental,  as  he  pressed  the  hand 
of  Philip,  and  called  upon  the  Great  Spirit  to  bless 
him.  But  again  his  eye  became  fixed  upon  the  fight, 
and  he  could  scarcely  be  repressed  from  rising  and 
shouting  his  war-cry.  When  he  saw  that  all  was 
lost,  that  the  English  maintained  their  ground  and 
were  gaining  upon  his  people,  his  agitation  was  ex- 
cessive ;  but  he  did  not  withhold  his  admiration  of 
the  brave  man  who  now  appeared  to  lead  the  enemy, 
and  who,  it  was  plain  to  see,  was  facilitating  by  every 
means  in  his  power  the  retreat  of  the  aged  and  help- 
less to  the  river  side. 

Philip,  intent  upon  his  work  of  mercy,  would  not 
quit  Oneyda's  side.  He  believed  him  to  be  dying, 
and  was  anxious  once  more  to  whisper  in  his  ear  the 
truth  he  had  so  long  endeavored  to  teach  him.  But 
the  eye  of  the  chief  was  busily  scanning  the  combat; 
he  was  restless  though  faint,  and  frequently  started 
from  the  supporting  arms  of  his  generous  attendant. 
But  at  length  the  wearied  lids  closed  and  his  lips  grew 
paler,  his  head  sank  languidly  upon  his  chest,  and  he 
swooned  away.  As  consciousness  returned,  he  spoke  ; 
but  his  mind  wandered,  and  his  thoughts  were  evi- 
dently fixed  upon  things  not  present. 

"  A  shadow  has  fallen  over  my  soul,  and  I  see  that 
the  glory  of  my  race  is  departed.  Oneyda  is  a  great 
chief;  he  goes  to  the  happy  hunting  grounds  with 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  143 

the  scalps  of  a  thousand  foes.  Why  does  the  Father 
of  Life  hide  his  face  under  a  cloud  ?  But  his  voice 
is  in  my  heart,  and  he  has  called  me.  I  come,  my 
Father!  I  am  swift  upon  the  trail  of  Meeattonee — 
the  deer  is  not  swifter ;  the  soft  breath  of  the  west 
whispers  the  names  of  my  fathers,  and  they  crown 
me  with  flowers  of  the  blessed  prairies." 

"  Oneyda !  Oneyda!  listen  to  me,  listen  to  me," 
said  Philip,  who  hung  over  him  in  deepest  sorrow. 

"  No,  no,  pale  face,  go  ;  go  tell  the  Yengees  that 
Opecanoff  is  the  eagle  of  his  tribe ;  he  fears  not 
death,  his  heart  is  far  from  the  knife  of  a  pale  face. 

But,  Philip,  my  son,  my  pride" A  cry  arose 

into  the  air,  and  instantly  interrupted  hostilities. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

Louder  had  become  the  battle-cry,  and  fiercer  the 
strife.  The  attacked  were  fighting  with  the  desperate 
energy  of  men  whose  all  was  staked  upon  the  result, 
who  knew  that  they  were  struggling  for  home,  and 
life,  and  name.  The  council-lodge  was  already  bla- 
zing ;  many  huts  in  its  vicinity  were  reduced  to  ashes  ; 
the  wounded  and  dying,  the  old  men,  and  helpless 
children,  and  feeble  women,  were  stretched  around 
them.  Their  chief  had  disappeared;  doubtless,  over- 
powered by  numbers,  he  had  fallen  ;  now  their  own 
arms  were  fainting  and  their  numbers  rapidly  dimin- 
ishing. When  all  seemed  lost,  and  while  the  elated 
victors  were  pursuing  with  detestable  alacrity  their 
work  of  carnage,  in  despite  of  the  efforts  of  Smith  to 
prevent  them,  a  succor  arrived,  most  unexpectedly  to 
all  parties,  in  the  person  of  Tallassee,  accompanied  by 
his  sons  and  a  large  body  of  warriors.  Then  arose 
the  terrific  war-cry  which  had  startled  Oneyda,  and  its 
effect  was  to  cast  a  gloom  over  the  English ;  but  it 
imparted  fresh  vigor  to  the  Indians,  who  now  flew 
with  greater  animation  to  the  combat,  and  desperately 


144  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

repulsed  their  assailants.  But.  the  arrival  of  these  new- 
comers interrupted  hostilities,  and  the  first  words  of 
Tallassee  were  conciliatory  and  pacific. 

He  proposed  that  the  English  should  withdraw,  and 
be  permitted  to  do  so  unmolested;  they  had  taken  suf- 
ficient vengeance,  he  said,  and  it  became  them  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  number  of  slain  in  the  engagement. 
"A  brave  warrior  when  full,  ceased  to  be  hungry." 
To  this  proposition  Captain  Smith  fully  agreed,  and 
declared  his  willingness  to  depart,  if  they  would  de- 
liver into  his  hands  the  captive  Philip  Randolph.  Here- 
upon many  asserted  that  they  had  seen  him  flee  to  the 
river,  and  that  they  were  sure  he  had  taken  this  oppor- 
tunity to  escape.  These  words  seemed  perfectly  rea- 
sonable to  Smith,  who  felt  it  would  be  impossible  to 
seek  for  him  in  all  the  confusion  which  reigned  so  su- 
premely over  the  plain  ;  and  he  considered,  moreover, 
that,  as  Philip  had  not  replied  to  his  oft-repeated  call, 
nor  appeared  to  any  of  his  party,  he  must  surely  have 
departed  to  the  place  of  rendezvous.  Indeed,  he  had 
no  reason  to  doubt  that  he  had  repaired  thither  before 
the  attack  commenced  :  so  he  did  not  think  it  necessa- 
ry to  pursue  his  inquiries,  and  proceeded  to  arrange 
some  terms  of  retreat  with  the  now  largely-reinforced 
Wyannows.  His  chief  difficulty  arose  from  the  ab- 
sence of  Preston,  who  was  not  to  be  found ;  and  he 
felt  diffident  about  making  conditions  with  the  Indians 
without  his  concurrence.  As  Preston's  men  declared 
that  he  had  been  flying  in  every  direction  of  the  field, 
it  was  not  improbable  that,  with  his  adventurous  and 
erratic  ideas  of  combat,  he  should  have  made  some 
detour  with  a  few  followers  ;  or,  it  was  possible  that 
he  had  been  wounded,  and  had  made  a  retreat.  He 
ordered  search  to  be  made  for  the  dead  and  wounded, 
but  forbade  any  approach  whatsoever  toward  a.  renewal 
of  the  fight. 

Smith's  terms  were  humane,  and  his  conduct  pru- 
dent, upon  the  occasion  which  succeeded  to  the  first 
parley  of  the  hostile  parties.  He  declared  that  such 
an  attack  as  the  present  w"wld  never  have  been  made, 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  145 

but  for  the  terrible  outrage  committed  upon  the  set- 
tlements the  previous  year ;  and  that  the  late  encoun- 
ter might  prove  to  every  native  tribe  what  they  had  to 
expect  if  ever  they  dared  again  to  intrude  upon  their 
peacefully-disposed  neighbors.  That,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  they  felt  willing  to  enter  into  alliance  with 
them,  he  was  ready  to  promise,  on  the  part  of  his  own 
people,^every  encouragement  they  needed,  and  assured 
them  of  inviolable  amity,  if  fully  confided  in.  These 
statements  Avere  received  courteously  by  Tallassee, 
who  promised  to  consider  them  in  a  grand  council  of 
the  western  tribes,  and  doubted  not  that  they  would 
all  nowbejnduced  to  enter  into  more  friendly  relations 
with  their  white  brothers,  who  had  shown  themselves 
so  wise  and  brave.  But  the  old  chief  insisted  upon 
the  immediate  departure  of  the  English  from  the  vil- 
lage, as  he  could  not  answer  for  the  consequences  if 
the  Wyannows  should  be  dissatisfied  and  dissent  from 
these  terms.  Very  few  were  present  at  the  delib- 
eration ;  for  the  old  men  had  escaped  with  the  women, 
or  hidden  themselves  in  the  wood,  and  the  warriors 
who  had  been  engaged  in  the  recent  combat  were  now- 
standing  in  moody  silence,  disdaining  1o  raise  their 
eyes  to  their  enemies,  and  busily  cogitating  some  fu- 
ture scheme  of  revenge. 

The  soldiers  who  had  been  sent  to  recover  the  dead 
and  wounded  now  returned,  leading  back  a  few  who 
had  been  much  disabled  by  the  weH-aimed  shafts  of 
the  savages;  but  Captain  Smith  gazed  upon  the  only 
inanimate  burden  which  they  bore  with  mingled  pity 
and  aversion.  Preston,  of  all  the  brave  band  he  had 
brought  with  him,  alone  had  fallen  in  the  engage- 
ment, and  his  features  in  death  wore  so  harsh  and 
stern  an  expression,  that  even  the  Indians  of  Tallas- 
see's  party  turned  from  the  forbidding  countenance 
with  awe  and  dislike.  After  assuring  Tallassee  of  a 
kind  and  honorable  reception  from  the  governor  at 
Jamestown  whenever  he  should  feel  inclined  to  pay 
him  a  visit,  Captain  Smith  gave  orders  for  a  retreat, 
and  his  small  but  well-disciplined  body  drew  up  as  by 
13 


146  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

magic,  the  Indians  thought,  shouldered  their  formi- 
dable firearms,  and  departed,  taking  the  way  that  led 
toward  the  river,  leaving  the  Wyannows  dispirited  and 
overwhelmed  by  the  terrible  loss  they  had  sustained, 
and  in  much  dread  of  the  wondrous  strangers,  whose 
appearance  had  been  so  unlooked  for  on  the  eve  of 
this  fatal  morning,  and  whose  power  they  already  be- 
gan to  appreciate. 

When  Smith  and  his  company  reached  the  river, 
they  found  their  boat,  but  scantily  manned,  awaiting 
them  :  it  was  supposed  that  Captain  Preston's  would 
be  met  with  lower  down.  .Ralph  Giles,  having  se- 
cured the  safety  of  Alice,  would  not  leave  her ;  and 
they  were  both  happily  sailing  homeward  under  the 
protection  of  the  third  commander.  With  neither  of 
these  boats  did  Captain  Smith  fall  in  ;  but  he  felt  little 
anxiety,  never  doubting  that  Philip  Randolph  was  in 
one  of  them.  The  distance  from  Jamestown  was 
great,  and  the  soldiers  were  desirous  to  bury  their  late 
commander,  which  they  did  on  the  evening  of  the 
second  day.  After  digging  a  grave  within  the  shelter 
of  the  forest,  they  laid  him  down  amid  the  wild  and 
solitary  scenes  he  had  so  loved  when  living.  No  tear 
was  shed,  no  prayer  hallowed  the  spot  which  received 
his  remains ;  the  sod  was  replaced,  and,  though  the 
deer  and  the  hunter  have  often  trodden  that  wilderness, 
no  Indian  ever  knew  the  grave  of  the  reckless  and  un- 
honored  Preston. 

The  generous  Smith  sighed  as  he  re-entered  his 
boat  when  the  melancholy  task  was  ended,  and  blamed 
himself  for  every  hasty  word  and  unkind  or  haughty 
rejoinder  he  had  been  guilty  of  in  their  late  intercourse  ; 
he  mentally  promised  to  be  more  guarded  in  future, 
and  to  bear  in  mind  the  final  destiny  of  the  strongest 
and  the  bravest.  It  was  a  bitter  disappointment  to  him 
as  well  as  to  the  affectionate  Ralph,  upon  meeting  at 
Jamestown,  to  find  that  Philip  had  been  left  behind. 
They  thought  they  were  both  much  to  blame  for  ever 
having  suffered  him  to  leave  them  when  once  under 
their  protection  ;  but  when  Henry  and  Margaret  Ran- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  147 

dolph  heard  the  faithful  relation  of  the  circumstances, 
they  both  exclaimed,  "  We  would  not  have  had  him 
act  otherwise  ;  our  boy  has  done  what  he  ought  to 
have  done,  and  we  are  thankful  that  he  did  right." 
They  would  not  allow  themselves  to  feel  anxious  ; 
they  indulged  the  hope  tha/  the  providence  of  God 
would  eventually  restore  him,  as  Alice  had  been 
brought  back,  to  their  yearning  arms.  But  the  tears 
filled  the  poor  mother's  eyes  more  frequently  than 
they  had  ever  done  before,  when  Alice  told  her  of  all 
they  had  done,  and  of  all  Philip  had  suffered,  and  how 
good  he  was,  and  how  he  made  everybody  good  that 
he  talked  to.  They  were  not  altogether  tears  of  sor- 
row, but  of  thankfulness  and  pride — the  pride  of  a 
doating  mother — the  fond  consciousness  that  her  cares 
had  not  been  bestowed  in  vain,  and  that  the  prayers 
of  former  years  were  answered. 

It  may  appear  strange  that  the  men  who  had  borne 
away  Preston's  body  had  not  observed  Philip  and 
Oneyda,  the  latter  reclining  upon  a  bank  very  near 
the  spot  where  their  commander  had  fallen.  Itmight 
be,  that,  as  Philip  wore  the  dress  and  paint  of  a  war- 
rior, he  had  been  overlooked  ;  or,  that  at  the  time  they 
approached  the  place,  he  was  absent  procuring  more 
water,  in  the  hope  of  restoring  the  insensible  chief. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  Philip  was  conscious  of  nothing 
but  the  danger,  and,  as  he  thought,  near  death  of  his 
protector;  for,  as  he  held  the  fainting  warrior's  head 
supported  on  his  breast,  and  gazed  upon  his  noble 
features,  all  recollection  of  captivity  or  trouble  was 
merged  in  the  present  helplessness  of  him  who  had 
rescued  him  twice  from  death,  and  had  given  him 
proofs  of  so  remarkable  an  attachment. 

While  these  thoughts  were  passing  through  his 
mind,  the  busy  scene  we  have  previously  related  was 
going  on,  out  of  sight,  but  within  a  very  short  distance 
of  him. 

When  the  sons  of  Tallassee,  accompanied  by  a  few 
warriors  of  the  Wyannows,  came  round  to  number 
the  dead,  they  found,  to  their  great  surprise,  the  still- 


148  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

captive  Philip  supporting  the  wounded  sachem.  Thei? 
joy  at  finding  this  renowned  chief  alive,  though  appa- 
rently fast  sinking,  was  not  equal  to  their  sentiments 
of  astonishment  and  admiration  on  beholding  Philip, 
who  had  lately  been  presented  with  so  many  oppor- 
tunies  of  escape,  stationary  at  the  side  of  Oneyda — 
bending  over  him  with  unfeigned  solicitude,  and  evi- 
dently wholly  engrossed  by  his  dangerous  condition. 
They  marvelled  at  such  'generous  self-forgetfulness  ; 
for  it  was  too  apparent,  that,  in  order  to  succor  Oney- 
da, Philip  had  neglected  his  own  opportunity  of  es- 
caping. The  sons  of  Tallassee  accosted  him  with 
the  greatest  respect,  and  pointed  him  out  to  their  fol- 
lowers as  the  most  exalted  of  beings. 

While  Philip  hung  over  the  agonized  form  of 
Oneyda,  expecting  every  moment  to  see  him  breathe 
his  last,  the  sons  of  Tallassee  stood  by  in  silent  consid- 
eration of  the  scene,  and  made  no  attempt  to  interrupt 
it ;  but  when  their  father  joined  them,  he  immediately 
gave  orders  that  the  wounded  chief  should  be  con- 
veyed to  his  wigwam,  the  only  one  in  the  village  pre- 
served entire  from  the  flames,  and  this  on  account  of 
the  supposed  presence  of  Philip.  The  latter  would 
not  leave  him. 

"Your  people  are  gone,"  said  one  of  the  young 
men,  in  the  language  of  the  Wyannows  :  "  will  you 
not  follow  them  ?" 

Philip  almost  bounded  from  the  earth  at  these 
words.  Liberty,  home,  kindred — all  that  endeared 
life  to  him — were  thus  presented,  and  he  hastily  de- 
manded which  way  the  troops  had  departed;  but,  be- 
fore a  reply  was  returned,  his  feelings  had  undergone 
another  transition.  Oneyda  was  in  extreme  danger — 
none  about  him  knew  so  well  as  he  how  to  comfort 
and  nurse  him.  Here  was  an  occasion  of  doing  good, 
and  further  opportunity  for  exercising  that  heroic  self- 
denial  which  he  so  much  desired  to  practise.  He 
would  not  go  ;  he  would  stay  till  returning  conscious- 
ness should  render  Oneyda  capable  of  receiving  con- 
solation and  instruction  ;  he  would  seek  to  reclaim  this 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  149 

erring  child  of  a  common  Father  :  he  would  imitate, 
as  far  as  he  was  able,  the  example  of  his  Master, 
who  never  turned  away  from  the  miserable  and  suf- 
fering. 

When  Philip  had  reviewed  this  resolution,  he  felt 
inexpressible  comfort  and  self-satisfaction.  His  con- 
science approved  him,  and  he  rejoiced  at  the  intelli- 
gence that  the  English  had  departed  without  him, 
supposing  their  young  countryman  to  have  preceded 
them  homeward.  This  information  was  communi- 
cated with  much  delicacy  and  consideration  by  Tal- 
lassee. 

**  They  have  gone,  but  they  knew  not  that  the  son 
of  Oneyda  was  resting  with  his  red  father  ;  their  hearts 
will  be  sad,  but  my  son  shall  dwell  in  our  wigwam 
and  eat  the  Indian's  food  till  the  great  chief  wakes. 
When  his  wounds  are  healed  and  his  strength  returns, 
he  will  speak  his  will  to  Philip.  Be  happy,  my  son," 
continued  the  old  man,  laying  his  hand  upon  Philip's 
head  ;  "  let  the  Indian's  sun  warm  the  heart  of  the 
pale  face ;  he  is  welcome  to  the  dwelling  of  Tallassee." 

For  many  days  did  Philip  watch  by  the  -mat  of 
Oneyda,  rendering  him  every  needful  attention  ;  and, 
though  he  had  little  skill  in  the  healing  art,  he  had 
profited  by  having  watched  his  mother  and  the  worthy 
Bridget,  both  renowned  for  their  knowledge  of  sim- 
ples, and  the  ability  with  which  they  dressed  a  wound 
or  treated  complaiuts  not  very  difficult  of  cure.  During 
the  first  few  days  of  extreme  weakness,  Oneyda  had 
moaned  incessantly ;  but,  as  consciousness  returned, 
and  when  he  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  others, 
the  stoical  principles  of  his  race  resumed  their  sway, 
and  he  suppressed  every  indication  of  pain.  Philip 
was  unremitting  in  his  attentions  to  the  poor  sufferer : 
from  his  hand  Oneyda  received  whatever  was  admin- 
istered either  of  cooling  beverage  or  of  fruit,  and  when 
irritated  by  pain  or  fever,  it  was  Philip  who  alone  had 
power  to  soothe  him.  Often  daring  the  day  did  Oney- 
da's  languid  eyes  turn  toward  his  youthful  benefactor, 
and  a  look  was  sufficient  when  loo  feeble  to  express 


150  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

his  wants  :  Philip  understood  them  all.  In  all  these 
offices  of  active  kindness,  he  neglected  not  a  duty  of 
great  importance.  The  sick  Indian  marvelled  to  see 
him  kneeling  at  times  in  a  shady  corner  of  the  hut, 
with  the  same  calm  and  fervent  expression  upon  his 
face,  and  in  the  same  attitude,  as  when  he  had  sur- 
prised him  in  the  wood ;  and  often  during  Oneyda's 
wakeful  moments,  when  Philip  knew  that  he  was  con- 
scious, would  he  lift  up  his  heart  in  prayer,  though  he 
retained  his  post  by  the  sick  couch  ;  the  deep  earnest 
breathings  of  his  soul  ascending  from  that  dark  cabin 
as  incense  to  Him  whose  shrine  is  the  lowly  heart  of 
faith.  Philip  had  severed  himself  from  sweet  links  of 
hope  ;  his  bright  anticipations  of  liberty  had  all  van- 
ished ;  aud  now  he  thought  only,  or  chiefly,  of  pres- 
ent duties  :  none  could  whisper  consolation,  or  praise, 
or  compliment,  or  paint  his  generous  self-denial  in  its 
true  colors.  Left  to  his  own  resources,  his  own  sor- 
row— he  did  not  feel  alone.  By  the  mat  of  a  savage, 
in  the  close  atmosphere  of  that  wigwam,  the  testimony 
of  a  good  conscience  gave  him  its  blessed  companion- 
ship ;  and  in  the  morning,  when  he  ventured  forth  to 
inhale  the  fresh  air  of  the  summer  dawn,  his  spirit 
drank  not  a  purer  or  more  refreshing  inspiration  than 
from  the  gloom  of  the  sick  dwelling.  He  suffered 
some  pangs;  self-denial  cost  him  some  efforts,  but  the 
tumult  of  natural  feeling  was  calmed  by  the  tender 
pleadings  of  pity  within  him,  and,  above  all,  by  the 
deep  and  constant  sense  of  God's  merciful  providence. 
"  It  is  all  well,"  he  often  repeated — "  God  will  care 
for  me ;''  and  he  found  peace  and  happiness  in  the 
thought. 

But  thus  occupied  in  unceasing  attendance  upon 
Oneyda,  Philip  did  not  forget  Meahmee  or  her  child, 
and  inquired  frequently  after  the  faithful  Appomax. 
He  learned  with  joy  that  they  had  reached  Tallassee's 
village  in  safety,  and  were  now  dwelling  in  his  wig- 
wam ;  that  Meahmee,  though  suffering  still  from  the 
alarm  and  fatigues  she  had  felt  during  the  day  of  the 
combat,  was  gradually  recovering  under  the  care  of 


PHTLTP    RANDOLPH  151 

her  mother,  and  was  only  deterred  from  visiting  her 
husband  by  the  parental  injunction  of  Tallassee,  who 
thought  that  the  chief  could  be  in  no  better  hands 
than  those  of  Philip.  As  soon  as  he  was  convalescent, 
the  latter  purposed  to  have  him  removed  and  conveyed 
in  a  canoe  to  a  new  scene :  rightly  judging  that  he 
would  be  little  able  to  bear  the  sight  of  so  much  havoc 
and  destruction  as  that  made  by  the  English  in  their 
sudden  invasion.  Many  of  his  people  were  already 
busilv  employed  in  constructing  a  new  village,  and 
several  neat  huts  had  arisen  upon  a  spot  not  very  dis- 
tant from  that  from  which  they  had  been  driven.  Ap- 
pomax  was  not  allowed  to  visit  his  brother,  and  in  the 
meanwhile  had  employed  himself  in  constructing  a 
new  habitation  for  him,  the  neatness  and  convenience 
of  which  was  highly  creditable  to  him  and  to  the  hints 
of  Philip,  whose  pupil  he  had  been.  His  friend,  du- 
ring that  time,  was  gaining  all  hearts  by  his  kind  and 
prudent  behavior,  and  receiving  much  honor  through 
the  attentions  and  favor  of  Tallassee. 

The  benevolent  and  praiseworthy  conduct  of  Philip 
had  produced  a  great  elfect  upon  the  mind  of  the  ven- 
erable Tallassee,  for  such  he  was  called  by  his  own 
people,  although  still  erect  and  dignified.  The  snows 
of  more  than  sixty  winters  whitened  his  brows,  and, 
contrary  to  the  custom  of  most  Indians,  his  head  was 
not  shaved,  and  his  silver  hair  fell  over  his  face  in 
much  profusion.  He  was  still  vigorous,  and  his  pow- 
ers of  mind  retained  all  or  more  than  their  former  ac- 
tivity. This  young  white  stranger  had  manifested 
principles  of  conduct  altogether  different  from  any- 
thing he  had  ever  witnessed,  and  be  felt  a  secret  curi- 
osity to  know  what  it  was  that  rendered  him  so  much 
wiser  and  more  prudent  than  the  youth  of  his  own 
people.  He  began  to  argue  that  if  all  the  Yengees 
resembled  this  specimen  of  their  race,  they  would  in- 
deed prove  formidable  foes  ;  that  it  might  be  better  to 
cultivate  their  friendship,  and  lay  aside  thoughts  of 
revenge  for  more  useful  purposes.  He  questioned 
Philip  upon  the  strength  and  numbers  of  his  people, 


152  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

and  their  modes  of  living  ;  but  strange  to  relate,  did 
not  inquire  in  the  least  respecting  their  method  of 
warfare.  Philip  soon  perceived  that  he  had  met  with 
a  character  entirely  new  to  him — one  he  could  scarce- 
ly have  expected  to  find  among  savages.  He  discov- 
ered that  Tallassee  was  a  devout  Indian,  whose  specu- 
lations, though  vague,  were  not  without  ingenuity,  and 
displayed  a  thoughtful  and  inquiring  mind. 

Tallassee  was  the  sage  of  his  tribe,  and  had  acquired 
great,  consideration  from  former  governors  of  Virginia 
as  a  peaceable  and  influential  sachem,  whose  policy 
had  always  been  more  humane  than  that  of  his  neigh- 
bors ;  and  among  the  Indians  of  the  west  he  was  looked 
up  to  as  one  deeply  skilled  in  great  matters,  who  had 
seen  and  known  many  things  by  direct  revelation  from 
Wacondah  himself,  and  they  also  highly  respected 
him  for  his  profound  prudence.  The  natural  piety  of 
this  savage  had  not  carried  him  very  far.  He  had 
busily  thought  when  upon  the  vast  prairies,  the  rolling 
rivers,  in  the  open  sky  of  his  boundless  land  ;  but  his 
range  was,  after  all,  very  limited,  for  they  could  teach 
his  darkened  imagination  but  little  of  the  power  and 
nature  of  the  true  God  of  heaven  and  earth.  Tallassee, 
after  long  years  of  indefinite  reasonings  and  self-com- 
muning, was  fast  filling  up  the  measured  term  of  his 
existence  without  a  satisfactory  solution  to  his  diffi- 
culties ;  something  within  him  was  at  variance  with 
the  views  and  principles  of  those  among  whom  he  had 
passed  his  life  ;  but  he  had  neither  guide  nor  revela- 
tion, and  was  groping  in  the  obscurity  of  natural  re- 
ligion when  he  unexpectedly  met  with  a  friend.  For 
God,  who  "  in  every  nation  accepteth  him  that  feareth 
him  and  worketh  righteousness,"  made  the  captive  of 
the  Wyannows  his  instrument  in  conveying  more 
clear  glimpses  of  truth  to  the  mind  of  the  aged  in- 
quirer. Philip  listened  to  Tallassee  with  respect  and 
attention,  and  answered  his  questions  with  all  the  pre- 
cision of  which  he  was  capable;  and  the  Indian,  grat- 
ified by  the  readiness  which  the  youth  displayed  to 
converse  and  argue  with  him,  enjoyed,  probably  for 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  153 

the  first  time  in  his  life,  that  greatest  of  enjoyments — 
communion  with  a  kindred  spirit.  Among  truthful 
minds  sympathy  must  exist,  and  neither  disparity  of 
years  nor  station  can  mar  this  union.  Thus  the  expe- 
rienced Tallassee  tasted  the  sweets  of  this  fellowship 
of  mind  with  a  youth  of  seventeen,  a  foreigner,  and 
one  of  a  hated  race. 

The  conversations  of  the  old  man  and  our  youthful 
hero  were  on  deeply  interesting  subjects  ;  and  though 
the  arguments  used  by  Philip  were  simple,  and  neither 
learned  nor  connected,  they  satisfied  Tallassee.  He 
was  no  logician,  and  his  learning  had  been  derived 
from  the  great  book  which  was  ever  open  to  him. 
The  landscape,  the  sky,  and  the  waters,  were  his  in- 
structed, and  nothing  advanced  by  Philip  as  yet,  star- 
tled him  or  appeared  unworthy  of  the  character  of 
Him  whom  he  ignorantly  worshipped  ;  but  he  was 
still  far  from  truth,  and  Philip  felt  by  no  means  quali- 
fied to  give  him  the  instruction  he  needed.  He  was 
not  in  possession  of  any  of  the  evidences  of  his  faith 
beyond  those  with  which  his  simple  education  had 
furnished  him.  The  Indian  listened  with  grave  inte- 
rest to  all  that  his  youthful  teacher  said ;  but  indulged 
in  no  expressions  of  wonder  or  of  gladness  at  hearing 
what  was  really  so  wonderful  and  joy-inspiring  ;  and 
when  Philip  informed  him  of  the  revelation  of  God's 
will,  and  of  the  way  of  salvation  by  Jesus  Christ,  his 
superstitious  mind  saw  nothing  incredible  in  the  fact 
that  God  should  send  his  Son  into  the  world  to  die 
for  man,  a  sacrifice  and  atonement  for  their  sin. 

Philip  was  young  and  inexperienced,  though  zeal- 
ous, and  sincerely  desirous  to  do  good.  He  felt  ex- 
tremely despondent  about  Tallassee,  after  several  con- 
versations upon  these  subjects,  to  find  him  still  so 
imperturbable ;  he  had  not  been  able  to  touch  his 
heart,  and  saw  that,  although  he  received  with  little 
doubt  what  was  presented  to  him  as  general  truth,  he 
still  remained  very  far  from  convinced  that  religion 
was  a  personal  thing.  Philip  learned  a  useful  lesson 
with  this  disappointment ;  he  felt  that  very  little  could 


154  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

be  done  by  his  own  power,  and  that,  in  order  to  eon- 
vert  others,  a  missionary  must  use  diligent  prayer,  and, 
above  all  things,  watch  his  own  heart  and  seek  dili- 
gently to  secure  his  own  salvation.  One  who  earn- 
estly desires  the  teaching  of  God's  Holy  Spirit  to 
enlighten  the  darkness  of  another's  heart,  in  like  man- 
ner will  seek  that  purifying  influence  for  himself. 
Philip  felt  that  he  might  confidently  look  up  and  de- 
sire that  greatest  of  all  blessings  a  renewed  heart,  not 
only  for  himself,  but  for  the  darkened  and  ignorant 
beings  around  him  ;  and  as  he  advanced  in  his  mis- 
sionary task,  he  was  made  more  intimately  acquainted 
with  the  difference  which  existed  between  himself 
and  them,  and  more  powerfully  reminded  of  his  own 
privileges  and  responsibilities. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

Pihilip  Randolph  was  a  captive  among  the  Wy- 
annows,  at  least  he  was  in  attendance  by  the  sick 
couch  of  their  once-renowned  and  powerful  chief; 
but  Oneyda  was  no  longer  powerful.  The  very  best 
and  bravest  of  his  warriors  had  fallen  in  the  late  con- 
flict, and  there  remained  but  few  to  take  their  places. 
The  old  men  and  children,  with  a  rising  but  undisci- 
plined youth,  now  constituted  the  sole  subjects  of  his 
despotic  sway  ;  and  after  two  months  of  dangerous 
sickness,  he  lay  weak  and  languid  upon  his  low  couch, 
only  leaving  it  occasionally,  when  his  devoted  atten- 
dant assisted  him  to  the  door  of  the  wigwam  in  order 
that  he  m 
sunshine. 

Oneyda  spoke  little,  and  from  the  first  day  of  his 
rising  from  his  sick-bed,  had  become  more  and  more 
dejected.  Meahmee,  who  was  now  permitted  to  join 
Philip  in  his  services  of  disinterestedness,  vainly  sought 


PHILIP    RAND01PH.  155 

by  every  simple  art  to  win  him  from  his  sadness. 
He  heeded  her  not,  and  would  often  lie  for  hours 
with  his  face  to  the  wall,  mute  and  motionless  as 
death.  When  he  had  recovered  more  strength,  Phil- 
ip urged  him  to  quit  the  wigwam  and  lie  in  the  shade, 
where  nothing  should  be  permitted  to  disturb  him ; 
and  the  proposition  seemed  to  give  him  some  pleasure, 
for  he  raised  himself  from  the  mat  with  a  degree  of 
his  former  alacrity,  and  attempted  to  walk  unsupported 
to  the  door,  but  he  could  not,  and  sank  back  again  in 
extreme  pain.  For  once  his  self-command  forsook 
him,  and  physical  strength  was  at  that  moment  so 
prostrate,  that  scalding  tears  of  mortification  and  im- 
patience rolled  fast  down  his  wan  cheeks  :  the  stern 
warrior  was  unmanned. 

"  Better  that  I  had  died  like  a  glorious  chief  than 
lived  to  be  a  woman!  Why  did  not  the  Great  Spirit 
call  me  to  my  fathers  when  he  sent  the  knife  of  my 
enemy  to  my  heart  ?  Oneyda  is  a  girl;  go,  Philip, 
and  tell  your  squaws  of  the  pale  faces  that  Oneyda, 
the  great  chief  of  the  Wyannows,  is  turned  into  a 
child  that  creeps  ;"  and  he  hid  his  face  from  his  com- 
panion, weeping  bitterly. 

Philip  regarded  him  with  compassion,  and  strove 
to  soothe  him  as  a  gentle  nurse  quiets  her  wayward 
charge.  He  bade  him  hope  for  more  strength,  at  the 
same  time  reminding  him  that  it  must  be  according  to 
the  will  of  God,  and  that,  if  it  were  his  pleasure,  he 
should  yet  be  strong  and  well  again. 

Oneyda's  next  attempt  to  gain  the  door-way  was 
attended  with  better  success ;  and  he  leaned  upon 
Philip's  shoulder,  listening  with  pleasure  to  the  voice 
of  his  favorite,  and  together  they  stepped  forth  into 
the  light  and  freshness  of  the  day.  But  Oneyda 
shrank  back  for  a  moment  as  they  were  crossing  the 
village  green  and  the  blackened  ruins  of  the  council- 
lodge  met  his  view.  The  whole  place  indeed,  pre- 
sented a  scene  of  desolation  most  trying  to  the  impe- 
riously-minded chief,  to  whose  memory  the  fearful 
combat  came  back  with  torturing  power  in  these  mo- 


156  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

ments  of  weakness.  Philip  led  him  away  to  the 
shade,  where  the  exhausted  invalid  threw  himself 
upon  a  bank  of  verdure,  and,  closing  his  eyes,  seemed 
to  be  courting  sleep;  but  he  was  much  agitated,  and, 
frequently  starting  from  his  recumbent  posture,  cov- 
ered his  faGe  with  his  hands  and  remained  silent  for 
many  moments.  Philip  watched  him  for  a  while  with 
much  interest,  and  then  said — 

"  Oneyda,  thank  God  for  this  day  i  You  are  raised 
from  your  bed  of  sickness  and  restored  to  life,  and  to 
many  blessings  ;  do  not  think  now  of  anything  that 
you  have  lost,  but  of  all  that  you  stiil  possess;  ask 
God  to  give  you  a  thankful  heart,  for  everything 
might  be  much  worse  than  it  is." 

The  chief  uncovered  his  face,  and  replied  to  this 
earnest  address  with  a  look  of  deep  anguish  ;  he  spoke 
in  tremulous  accents,  as  if  struggling  to  master  the 
powerful  emotions  of  his  troubled  soul. 

"Philip,  Philip!"  he  said,  with  a  pathos  that  melt- 
ed his  young  friend's  heart,  "I  have  lost  all — all !" 

"  Oh,  no  !  my  father ;  not  all." 

Oneyda  interrupted  him.  "I  was  a  great  chief 
once,  and  my  arm  was  strong  and  my  heart  without 
fear.  I  had  five  hundred  braves  around  me,  and  they 
followed  my  track  in  the  forest,  and  we  hunted  over 
the  far  west  and  no  man  crossed  my  path,  for  my 
name  spoke  louder  than  the  fire-spirit  when  he  roars 
upon  the  burning  prairies;  my  old  men  were  wise  in 
council,  and  my  villages  were  never  destroyed  till  the 
pale  face  came  to  sweep  away  the  name  of  my  people 
from  the  earth.  Oh !  if  those  warriors  were  yet  liv- 
ing, would  they  have  left  me  in  my  death-struggle? 
But  I  know  they  are  gone  never  to  return,  I  have 
no  tribe — no  people — no  name." 

Philip  hastened  to  assure  him  that  of  the  many  as 
dangerously  wounded  as  himself  some  were  aheady 
better,  and  busied  at  the  time  in  rearing  a  new  village, 
and  settling  the  rest  of  the  tribe  on  a  meadow  not  very 
distant ;  that  as  soon  as  he  wished  to  be  conveyed 
thither,  Tallassee  had  promised  to  send  a  canoe,  and 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  157 

that  his  recovery  was  a  matter  of  much  affectionate 
interest  to  the  whole  of  his  people. 

This  intelligence  imparted  a  gleam  of  hope  to  Oney- 
da's  mind,  in  danger  of  preying  upon  its  own  despon- 
dency ;  and  he  was  willing  to  be  persuaded  by  the 
kind  considerations  which  Philip  so  well  knew  how 
to  suggest.  He  looked  around  him  with  greater  cour- 
age, and  appeared  to  derive  strength  from  the  effort, 
but  his  tones  were  still  mournful  and  complaining. 

"Why  does  the  sun  shine  so  gladly?"  he  cried. 
"  Why  is  the  sky  so  bright,  and  why  does  the  spirit 
of  music  speak  in  the  forest?  See,  Philip,  God  is 
angry  with  me  ;  he  despises  me,  and  makes  all  things 
sing  proudly  over  my  fall." 

"  Not  so,  Oneyda  !  Oh,  no  !  not  so.  God  loves 
you  ;  nay,  he  afflicts  you  because  he  loves  you  and 
wishes  to  make  you  love  him  better.  He  can  not  do 
wrong.  See  how  happy  he  has  made  everything  : 
the  sky  and  the  waters  look  joyous  because  they  were 
made  to  praise  him  and  to  tell  of  his  goodness  to  us 
his  creatures  ;  but  lift  up  your  heart  to  God,  Oneyda, 
and  ask  him  to  teach  you  to  love  him,  and  then  you 
will  not  grieve  that  he  has  afflicted  you." 

"How  shall  I  speak  to  him,  Philip,  while  I  am  so 
angry  ?  Do  you  speak  to  your  God,  and  ask  him. 
He  will  not  hear  the  red  man." 

"He  hears  all  who  call  upon  him,"  replied  Philip, 
much  moved ;  and  kneeling  down  he  prayed  a  fervent 
petition  in  the  language  of  Oneyda,  who  felt  surprised 
that  Philip  should  so  well  know  his  wants,  and  so 
much  of  all  he  was  thinking  about. 

"  My  son  knows  everything,  and  he  shall  teach  me 
of  his  God.     Oneyda  is  a  child — he  knows  nothing." 

Philip  did  not  yet  venture  to  speak  of  freedom. 
His  work  made  progress ;  the  simple  Meahmee  be- 
came a  convert.  Tallassee  did  not  blame  her,  and 
she  commended  her  faith  to  those  whom  she  could 
influence  by  her  blameless  conduct.  A  change  took 
place  in  Oneyda ;  he  grew  more  humble,  and,  though 
reserved,  became  gradually  interested  in  the  truth  for 
14 


158  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

its  own  sake,  though,  at  first,  it  had  only  been  impor- 
tant as  spoken  by  Philip.  He  recovered  from  his  ill- 
ness, but  at  the  end  of  three  months  was  still  weak 
and  tottering,  and  evinced  much  unwillingness  to  re- 
move from  his  wigwam.  At  length,  upon  the  solici- 
tations of  Tallassee,  he  consented  to  go  to  his  new 
village,  and  a  canoe,  manned  by  Appomax  and  the 
brothers  of  Meahmee,  arrived  to  convey  him  thither. 
He  entered  it  firmly,  and  calmly  received  the  congrat- 
ulations of  his  brothers,  who  had  sufficient  self-com- 
mand not  to  betray  their  surprise  and  regret  at  the 
great  change  manifest  in  his  appearance. 

The  people,  who  thronged  the  river's  bank  to  wel- 
come home  their  renowned  chief,  were  all  alike  shock- 
ed at  this  alteration  in  his  appearance;  but,  bending 
and  lame  as  he  was,  Oneyda  could  yet  wave  his  hand 
with  dignity,  and  address  them  in  those  tones  which 
had  always  held  such  a  magic  sway  over  their  savage 
spirits.  He  landed,  assisted  by  Philip,  and  was  con- 
ducted to  the  wigwam  which  Appomax  had  so  care- 
fully constructed.  Its  aspect  pleased  him  much,  and 
in  the  evening,  when  Meahmee  asked  Philip  to  pray 
that  God  would  bless  their  new  home  and  do  them 
good  in  it,  Oneyda  listened  with  much  attention,  and 
Appomax  knelt  by  his  friend's  side.  It  was  a  happy 
evening  to  Philip,  and  he  slept  soundly  and  sweetly 
upon  the  new  mat  in  the  new  little  dormitory  which 
affection  and  friendship  had  especially  intended  for 
him.  He  awoke  in  the  morning  with  a  lightened 
heart,  and  felt  so  much  refreshed  that  he  almost  for- 
got how  far  he  still  dwelt  from  home  and  kindred. 

A  week  passed  away  after  their  arrival  at  the  new 
village,  and  Oneyda  was  visibly  better.  His  people 
became  accustomed  to  him,  and  he  felt  less  mortifica- 
tion at  being  seen  by  them ;  but  it  was  his  hardest 
trial  to  note  how  few  brave  men  went  through  their 
exercises,  or  mustered  for  a  hunting-party.  He  pur- 
posed training  the  youths  as  soon  as  he  got  better,  and 
also  calling  a  council  of  allies ;  but  pride  still  ruled, 
and  he  shrank,  for  the  present,  from  exposing  his 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  159 

weakness  to  his  neighbors.  And  had  he  no  thought  all 
this  time  for  the  liberty  of  the  generous  youth  who 
had  devoted  himself  so  entirely  to  his  safety,  and 
watched  so  long  by  his  sick  couch?  Meahmee 
yearned  to  suggest  the  wish  of  her  heart ;  she  could 
not  refrain  from  telling  Philip  that  she  prayed  for  his 
freedom  ;  but  knowing  the  temper  of  her  husband, 
dared  not  propose  it  to  him. 

Whenever  Oneyda's  eye  rested  upon  Philip's  coun- 
tenance, he  would  sigh,  and  look  so  sad,  that  the  latter 
could  not  utter  his  oft-recurring  wish  to  be  sent  home ; 
and  he  determined  to  wait  a  little  longer,  till  the  man- 
date should  proceed  from  a  sense  of  justice,  and  Chris- 
tian consideration  be  its  prompting  motive.  In  due 
time  his  patience  was  rewarded.  Oneyda  led  him  to 
the  door  of  his  dwelling  one  evening,  and  pointing  to 
the  moon,  which  was  then  shining  brightly  in  the  ze- 
nith, said,  in  a  voice  of  emotion — 

"  When  that  moon  grows  large,  Philip  shall  go  to 
the  wigwam  of  his  white  father." 

The  youth  started.  "Shall  I,  indeed,  Oneyda? 
May  God  bless  you  for  that  word  !" 

"  My  son,  I  have  been  very  selfish ;  have  hated  the 
white  man  and  called  him  dog  all  my  life  till  now  ;  but 
from  this  time  I  am  his  friend.  You  shall  go  to  your 
father,  and  Oneyda  will  be  your  friend  and  his;  but 
forget  not  your  red  brothers" He  stopped  ab- 
ruptly and  turned  away. 

A  few  mornings  after  this  conversation,  Philip  was 
awakened  by  a  cold  hand  upon  his  arm,  and  the  voice 
of  Oneyda  in  his  ear. 

"  Philip,  my  son,  rise,  for  the  sun  is  waking,  and 
you  must  be  gone  ere  my  people  stir ;  hasten,  my 
friend  !  'Tis  not  Oneyda  that  drives  you  from  his 
dwelling  ;  'tis  the  voice  of  your  heart,  Philip,  and  you 
are  free  to  go  where  it  leads  you.  Go,  and  tell  the 
pale  faces  that  the  red  man  is  just ;  he  will  not  keep 
what  is  not  his  own.  Philip,  we  shall  meet  again  ; 
and  then  I  will  tell  your  people  what  the  captive  did 
for  his  cruel  master."     He  took  Philip's  hand  aud 


160  PHILIP    RANDOJPH. 

pressed  it  to  his  heart,  and  the  youth  felt  the  warm 
tears  falling  fast  upon  it. 

"  Now,"  said  Oneyda,  recovering  his  usual  dignity, 
"  farewell  !  May  your  God  and  my  God  love  you, 
Philip,  and  take  you  to  your  father.  You  will  not  go 
alone.  Under  the  fiery  maple  you  will  find  a  canoe, 
and  Appomax  awaits  you.  Go,  my  son  !  why  do  you 
tarry  ?     You  are  free  !1' 

Philip  pressed  his  hand  and  obeyed. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  morning  was  bright  and  dewy,  and  the  turf 
glistened  in  the  rising  sun.  All  was  happiness  around  ; 
and  yet  Philip  felt  pensive  on  his  way  to  liberty.  He 
regretted  not  having  bidden  adieu  to  Meahmee,  but 
resolved  to  send  many  grateful  messages  by  Appomax, 
who  greeted  him  sadly,  and  who  could  scarcely  enjoy 
the  hours  of  uninterrupted  intercourse  which  this 
voyage  afforded  him,  from  the  ever-present  dread  of 
their  coming  separation.  He  knew  that  he  was  con- 
veying his  friend  away,  never  to  return  ;  and  this  con- 
viction made  him  so  sad,  that  Philip  could  only  cheer 
him  by  promising  to  come  back  at  some  future  day  and 
pay  them  a  visit.  It  was  in  this  voyage  that  Appo- 
max confessed  to  his  friend  that  he  had  been  the  mur- 
der of  Maneecho,  though  unintentionally.  It  was  he 
who  had  made  an  opening  in  the  side  of  the  hut,  and 
forced  away  the  timbers,  to  get  admission  to  the  side 
of  the  helpless  captive  ;  and  his  hand  had  struck  the 
blow,  though  in  ignorance  of  its  terrible  effects.  He 
had  entertained  many  fears  with  regard  to  Maneecho, 
and  suspected  him  of  the  treachery  he  afterward  at- 
tempted. This  confession  led  to  an  interesting  con- 
versation, in  which  Philip  endeavored  to  show  to  the 
affectionate  Appomax  what  were  the  laws  of  God,  and 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  161 

that  it  was  highly  needful  to  guard  against  impetuosi- 
ty. He  made  him  feel  regret  lor  the  deed  and  its  con- 
sequences, and  led  him  to  seek  forgiveness  of  the  God 
whom  he  had  injured,  and  whose  law  he  had  unwit- 
tingly disobeyed.  Appomax  shed  tears,  and  lamented 
that  lie  should  have  no  friend  or  adviser  when  Philip 
was  gone,  to  teach  him  anything  right. 

Their  monotonous  voyage  down  the  river  lasted 
several  days.  Though  varied  by  conversation,  it  was 
tedious  ;  and,  to  Philip's  harassed  mind,  much  relief 
was  afforded  when  they  left  the  boat  to  continue  their 
journey  by  land.  He  confided  entirely  in  Appomax, 
whose  directions  had  been  minute ;  and  in  less  than 
two  days  they  reached  the  bank  of  another  river,  and 
found  a  canoe  moored  in  the  shade,  into  which  Appo- 
max sprang.  He  paddled  rapidly  into  the  stream,  and 
looked  at  the  sun  ;  then  returning,  leaped  ashore  again, 
and  mournfully  pointing  to  the  rocking  boat,  bade 
Philip  enter  it  alone. 

"And  will  you  not  come  also,  Appomax?  What 
shall  1  do  without  my  guide  ?" 

"  I  may  not,"  answered  the  youth,  sadly  sighing  ; 
"  Oneyda's  words  were  loud  ;  he  said,  '  Take  him  to 
his  own  river,  and  then  follow  your  trail  and  hasten 
home.'  Appomax  could  weep  like  a  woman,  but  he 
dare  not ;  he  will  wait  till  his  brother  turns  from  the 
sun,  and  then  he  will  fly  back  to  tell  Oneyda.  Go, 
Philip — go  !" 

Philip  thought  it  useless  and  tantalizing  to  keep 
Appomax  longer  on  the  bank  than  was  necessary;  he 
therefore  wrung  his  hand,  and,  stepping  into  the  canoe, 
turned  down  the  stream,  and  soon  discovered  that  he 
was  on  the  James  river. 

He  passed  many  a  well-known  spot,  and  beheld  the 
green  hill  of  the  Fair  Meadows  rising  in  the  distance. 
How  his  heart  swelled  at  that  sight,  and  all  the  mem- 
ories of  the  past  rushed  back  upon  his  soul !  He  wept 
and  poured  out  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving  for  the  mer- 
cies vouchsafed  him  from  that  fatal  day  of  massacre  to 
the  present.  The  banks  became  flatter  and  duller  as 
14* 


162  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

he  proceeded  ;  but,  tame  as  they  appeared  in  compari- 
son with  the  many  beautiful  and  magnificent  scenes 
he  had  witnessed  in  the  west,  they  wanted  nothing 
now  but  the  settlements  that  used  to  stud  the  river- 
side, looking  so  peaceful  and  pleasant  to  his  eye,  as 
the  boat  had  so  often  conveyed  the  family  to  and  from 
the  church  of  Jamestown.  But  his  heart  beat  more 
quickly  when  that  hallowed  building  appeared  in  sight, 
standing  in  its  simplicity  upon  the  fair  rising  ground 
above  the  little  town,  sheltering,  as  it  were,  by  its  con- 
secrated vicinity.  Philip  looked  away  to  the  banks 
once  more.  They  were  evidently  forsaken  ;  but  he 
trusted  that  now  the  Indians  would  not  be  so  formi- 
dable, and  that  he  at  least  could  insure  the  friendship 
of  two  great  chiefs  to  the  colony.  This  reflection 
caused  him  to  say  that  his  captivity  had  not  been 
vain.  He  plied  a  vigorous  oar,  and  at  last  entered 
the  little  port,  and  finally  moored  his  canoe  upon  dry 
land. 

The  sun  was  just  setting,  and  cast  a  cheerful  radi- 
ance upon  the  painted  wooden  buildings  of  the  little 
town.  He  plainly  discovered  the  sentinels  on  parade 
upon  the  parapet  of  the  fort,  and  heard  the  hum  of 
voices  in  the  court  of  the  government-house.  All  this 
time  he  had  forgotten  that  he  still  wore  the  dress  of 
an  Indian  ;  and,  though  he  was  without  paint,  his  ap- 
pearance was  sufficiently  forlorn:  and  at  the  first  glance, 
an  observant  eye  might  very  easily  have  mistaken  him 
for  a  wandering  native.  He  thought  it  singular  that 
the  day  of  his  arrival  should  be  that  of  the  anniversary 
of  his  birth.  Such  was  the  case ;  and  he  thought,  too, 
with  delight  and  thankfulness,  how  happy,  how  much 
happier,  would  be  this  birthday  than  any  he  had  ever 
passed  in  his  life. 

Inquiring  from  a  man— who  seemed  much  surprised 
to  hear  such  pure  English  from  an  Indian  hunter,  for 
his  dress  betokened  this — where  was  Henry  Ran- 
dolph's house,  it  was  pointed  out  to  him. 

"  That  white  house  yonder,  and  the  neatest  in  all 
the  town,  I  can  tell  you." 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  163 

Philip  hurried  onward,  but  his  step  faltered  as  he 
laid  his  hand  on  the  gate.  The  dwelling  was  indeed 
remarkably  neat,  and  the  garden  bore  traces  of  his 
mother's  taste  and  care.  The  door  was  closed,  and 
no  one  appeared  at  the  little  glazed  windows,  so  that 
his  approach  was  unperceived  ;  but  still  he  hesitated. 
The  barking  of  a  dog  gave  warning  to  the  inmates 
that  some  one  approached  ;  and  soon  Bridget's  round 
face  appeared  at  a  side  window. 

"  What's  your  business  ?"  were  the  first  words. 
"  Oh,  it's  one  of  them  Indians  !" 

Philip  turned  his  face  away.  How  could  he  rush 
into  his  mother's  presence  thus  abruptly  ?  It  might 
shock  her ;  she  might  be  injured  from  excess  of  joy, 
and  his  father's  nerves  were  none  of  the  strongest.  He 
paused  a  moment,  and  then  spoke  in  as  harsh  a  tone 
as  he  could  assume — 

"  I  come  with  news  of  Philip  :  to  say  that  he  is 
safe,  and  not  far  off." 

Bridget  gave  a  joyous  exclamation,  and  had  no  soon- 
er disappeared  from  the  window,  than  Ralph  Giles 
took  his  station  there. 

"  Hush,  Ralph  !"  said  Philip,  stealing  softly  toward 
him.     "  Do  not  alarm  my  mother ;  be  careful." 

Ralph  was  soon  in  the  garden,  and  after  him  came 
Alice,  who  had  no  difficulty  in  recognising  her  broth- 
er. "  He  is  here  !"  she  cried.  "  Father,  mother,  it's 
Philip,  it's  Philip  !"  And  she  threw  herself,  weeping 
and  sobbing,  into  his  arms. 

Henry  Randolph  rushed  out  of  the  house,  and  folded 
his  long- lost  son  to  his  heart.  "  Thou  art  come,  my 
son  !  God  be  thanked,  thou  art  come  at  last,  my  own 
•dear  noble  boy  !" 

Philip,  starting  from  his  father's  embrace,  rushed 
into  the  house,  calling  upon  his  mother's  name.  When 
he  entered  the  room,  he  few  nd  his  mother  sitting  at 
the  table,  her  cheek  resting  on  her  hand,  and  her  face 
pale  as  death.  She  could  not  rise  ;  her  lips  quivered 
convulsively,  and  she  held  out  her  hand,  as  if  entreat- 
ing assistance.     Philip  clasped  her  in  his  arms.    "  My 


164  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

mother  !"  he  said,  and  burst  into  tears.  She  made 
another  effort  to  rise  and  to  speak,  but  the  surprise 
was  too  great,  and  she  swooned  away  upon  his 
shoulder. 

When  Margaret  recovered,  the  first  face  she  opened 
her  eyes  upon  was  that  of  Philip,  bending  over  hei 
with  fond  solicitude. 

"  My  son,  my  dear  son  !"  she  murmured  faintly, 
and  then  closed  her  eyes  again.  Philip  withdrew,  and 
did  not  reappear  till  she  was  pronounced  better  able  to 
bear  his  presence.  When  her  husband  returned, 
about  an  hour  after,  leading  their  son  by  the  arm,  she 
was  sitting  up,  and  could  speak  to  him.  Philip  had 
changed  his  dress,  and  taken  some  food  ;  the  principal 
alteration  in  his  appearance,  therefore,  did  not,  as  at 
first,  affect  his  mother,  tie  no  longer  looked  the 
savage  ;  but  in  another  suit  of  clothes,  and  with  the 
additional  height  of  a  year  and  a  half's  growth,  was  as 
handsome  and  manly  a  son  as  ever  fond  mother  gazed 
upon. 

It  was  late  that  night  ere  any  of  the  family  retired 
to  rest ;  and  Margaret  could  not  tire  of  looking  at 
Philip,  and  listening  to  his  voice.  She  saw  no-ebange 
for  the  worse,  and  many  of  his  expressions  delighted 
her.  The  sentiments  he  uttered  were  all  touching 
and  truthful ;  and  he  appeared  to  be  wise  and  experi- 
enced beyond  his  years.  Sorrow  and  danger  and  self 
denial  had  greatly  improved  his  character,  and  given 
tone  and  strength  to  his  moral  feelings  ;  these  indeed 
were  quite  in  accordance  with  those  of  his  excellent 
parents. 

"  My  son,"  said  his  father,  after  he  had  seen  him  in 
bed,  "  I  wish  you  refreshing  sleep.  My  heart  is  filled 
with  thankfulness  to  see  you  once  more,  and  to  see 
you  what  you  are.  Oh,  Philip,  let  us  not  forget  this 
day  as  long  as  we  both  live  ;  let  us  keep  it  as  one  of 
thanksgiving  to  our  God.  He  has  chastened  you, 
Philip,  for  a  wise  purpose.  He  loves  whom  he  chast- 
ens.    Blessed  be  the  name  of  the  Lord!" 

"  Amen  !"  said  Philip,  fervently  ;  and  he  soon  sank 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  165 

into  sweet  slumbers  in  the  comfortable  bed  prepared 
for  him,  and  awoke  next  morning  in  the  happy  con- 
sciousness that  he  was  in  his  own  home. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  affairs  of  the  colony  went  on  prosperously,  and 
many  of  the  native  tribes  renewed  their  peaceful  rela- 
tions with  the  English.  The  colonists  pursued  their 
occupations  more  freely,  and  began  to  extend  the  line 
of  buildings  from  the  little  town  along  the  flat  shore 
of  the  river ;  and  some  even  ventured  to  post  them- 
selves in  more  distant  and  advantageous  situations, 
where  they  could  cultivate  the  soil  and  form  planta- 
tions. But  the  Randolphs  remained  where  they  were, 
and,  with  diligence  and  economy,  soon  found  them- 
selves in  a  fair  way  to  retrieve  their  numerous  losses. 
Henry  had  many  friends,  and  was  not  destitute  of  per- 
severance. In  all  his  labors,  too,  he  was  so  assidu- 
ously aided  by  Philip,  that  his  daily  employments 
could  hardly  be  called  labors.  Everything  appeared 
so  hopeful  and  agreeable  with  such  a  companion,  and 
Philip,  on  his  part,  found  occupation  a  most  delight- 
ful change  after  his  long  captivity,  to  the  tediousness 
of  which,  want  of  occupation  had  been  so  trying  an 
aggravation.  To  him  it  was  no  burden  to  fill  up  ev- 
ery moment  of  the  day ;  and  when  manual  labor 
ceased,  he  devoted  himself  to  study,  endeavoring  to 
regain  what  he  had  lost;  and  the  Bible,  from  which 
he  had  been  so  long  debarred,  now  became  the  prized 
companion  of  his  retirement. 

One  secret  wish  of  his  heart,  which  he  had  uncon- 
sciously fostered  from  earliest  childhood,  was  to  visit 
his  native  country.  But  though  hope  and  imagination 
pictured  all  that  was  brilliant,  beautiful,  and  wondrous, 
in  that  distant  land,  he  saw  clearly  that  present  duty 


166  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

called  upon  him  to  remain  in  Virginia,  so  long  as  his 
father  should  require  his  assistance.  He  knew  also 
the  happiness  which  his  society  gave  his  mother;  how 
necessary  his  influence  had  become  to  Alice,  and  he 
could  not  determine  to  give  up  these  for  more  selfish 
gratification.  Therefore  he  never  breathed  the  natu- 
ral and  reasonable  desire  of  his  heart  to  visit  Eng- 
land, the  land  to  which  his  parents  were  still 
fondly  attached,  and  whose  praises  they  so  often  re- 
iterated. 

Henry  Randolph's  heart  frequently  overflowed  with 
thankful  emotion  when  he  considered  the  exemplary 
conduct  of  his  son.  Every  care  of  life  seemed  robbed 
of  its  bitterness  ;  his  crushed  spirits  revived  under  the 
congenial  and  refreshing  influence  of  the  association 
now  hourly  afforded  him  ;  and  he  had  the  sweet  satis- 
faction of  knowing  that  Philip  regarded  him  as  his 
best  friend  and  most  agreeable  companion.  The  friend- 
ship of  father  and  son  was  as  perfect  as  aught  hu- 
man could  be,  based  upon  the  only  foundation  that 
could  render  it  endearing — the  holy  tenderness  of  the 
parent's  feelings,  and  the  heartfelt  reverence  of  the 
child.  Philip  respected  his  father  as  his  best  and 
wisest  earthly  guardian,  and  listened  to  his  opinions 
with  unwearied  interest ;  and  Henry  loved  his  son  too 
truly  ever  to  withhold  advice  or  confidence. 

Thus  their  intercourse  was  remarkably  distinguish- 
ed by  its  candor  and  ease  :  untinctured,  on  the  parent's 
side,  by  sternness  or  reserve,  and  quite  devoid  of  con- 
ceit or  familiarity  on  the  part  of  the  son.  Most  happy 
were  they  in  their  union,  and  blessings  to  one  another. 
No  family  in  the  colony  was  more  respected  than  the 
Randolphs  ;  and  Sir  George  Yeardley  looked  upon 
Philip  with  great  favor,  as  a  youth  of  rare  promise, 
who  would  eventually  do  great  service  and  credit  to 
the  colony  and  state  of  Virginia.  He  paid  him  marked 
attention,  and  soon  discovered  his  cherished  wish  of 
visiting  the  mother  country. 

"  You  should  send  that  lad  of  yours  homeward, 
Master  Randolph,"  he  would  frequently  say ;   "  he 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  167 

merits  all  the  advantages  you  can  give  him,  and  travel 
would  be  vastly  serviceable." 

"True,"  replied  the  father;  "and  he  shall  go 
when  I  can  bring  myself  to  part  with  him." 

This  was  the  only  subject  of  reserve  between  Hen- 
ry and  his  son.  Philip  could  not  introduce  it,  from 
delicacy  of  feeling  and  self-denying  principle,  and  his 
father  was  incapable  of  inflicting  such  a  blow  upon 
himself. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Philip  forgot  his  In- 
dian friends.  Their  names  were  often  upon  his  lips, 
and  he  remembered  them  in  his  prayers.  He  longed 
for  Oneyda's  promised  visit,  which,  he  doubted  not, 
would  sooner  or  later  be  paid. 

The  natives  had  of  late  been  very  tranquil,  and  this 
circumstance  led  to  much  suspicion  on  the  part  of 
their  English  neighbors,  who  had  experienced  some 
cause  for  apprehension  on  a  former  occasion,  from  a 
similar  state  of  things,  and  it  was  well  known  that  the 
Indians  could  adopt  this  policy  when  meditating  an 
outbreak.  As  yet,  however,  no  infraction  of  late  trea- 
ties had  taken  place  ;  and  well  guarded  as  they  were, 
the  colonists  maintained  an  appearance  of  indifference, 
and  felt  themselves  now  sufficiently  formidable  to 
quell  a  savage  insurrection.  Messages  of  a  friendly 
nature  at  length  arrived  from  their  former  allies,  the 
Dahwyotti,  a  tribe  bordering  on  the  western  bank  of 
the  Rappahannock  ;  and  the  intelligence  brought  by 
their  envoys  was  at  once  gratifying  and  perplexing  to 
the  government  at  Jamestown.  They  had  made  them- 
selves masters  of  the  famed  and  dreaded  Opecanoff, 
and  offered  to  deliver  him  up  to  the  English,  if  they 
would  guaranty  to  them  the  transfer  of  his  lands,  arid 
confer  his  dignities  and  title  upon  their  own  chief. 
This  was  an  affair  requiring  very  delicate  manage- 
ment ;  and  some  of  the  council  were  of  opinion  that  it 
would  be  better  to  decline  any  interference  in  the  mat- 
ter. But  Sir  George  Yeardley  could  not  resist  the 
strong  curiosity  he  felt  to  see  the  mysterious  and  for- 
midable foe,  who  had  so  long  baffled  his  vigilance,  and 


168  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

caused  him  so  much  anxiety  and  difficulty.  He  re- 
solved to  see  the  Indian  king  ;  and  it  was  agreed  to  re- 
ceive a  deputation  of  the  Dahwyotts  ;  but  no  promise 
was  given  with  regard  to  the  chief  or  his  dignities  ; 
and  in  a  few  days  a  party  waited  upon  the  governor, 
accompanied  by  their  prisoner.  Much  interest  was 
excited  throughout  the  little  town,  and  many  came 
to  behold  the  renowned  warrior  whose  name  and  in- 
fluence had  so  often  struck  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the 
inhabitants  ever  since  the  death  of  Powhatan.  The 
courtyard  of  the  government-house  was  crowded  with 
an  unusual  number  of  spectators  ;  but  they  were  un- 
able to  distinguish  the  captive  among  so  many  lofty 
figures,  who  trod  the  path  with  such  stately  grace,  as 
if  each  were  the  sachem  of  a  thousand  warriors.  The 
governor  was  resolved  to  receive  the  party  with  some 
show  of  power  and  pomp,  and  was  attended  by  all  the 
principal  personages  of  the  colony,  with  many  officers 
of  the  garrison  in  full  costume.  The  soldiers  were 
drawn  up  in  a  strong  body  before  the  window  of  the 
hall,  and  the  Indians  marched  through  a  double  file 
of  them,  to  the  apartment  where  the  representatives 
were  sitting. 

The  chief  of  the  Dahwyotti  entered  with  an  air  of 
unconcealed  triumph,  as  he  exultingly  pointed  toward 
the  only  unarmed  savage  of  their  number,  and  uttered 
a  few  words  which  were  quite  unintelligible  to  those 
whom  he  addressed.  He  laid  his  powerful  hand  upon 
the  arm  of  his  captive,  and  motioned  him  forward. 
Opecanoff  raised  his  head  quickly,  and  his  flashing 
eyes  betrayed  for  an  instant  the  sensitiveness  of  his 
soul ;  but  their  fierceness  subsided,  and  he  obeyed  the 
mandate  of  his  captor,  advancing  with  apparent  diffi- 
culty, and  eying  the  assembly  attentively,  directed  his 
steps  to  the  spot  where  Sir  George  was  standing, 
and  bowing  low,  stood  silent  and  motionless  before 
him. 

All  regarded  him  with  astonishment.  Could  this 
be  the  dreaded  Opecanoff?  The  Indian  was  entirely 
divested  of  paint  and  ornaments,  and  the  torn  remnant 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  169 

of  his  once  splendid  buffalo-robe  but  ill  concealed  his 
shrunk  and  wasted  form.  The  ravages  of  illness  had 
evidently  wrecked  its  noble  proportions,  and  its  sym- 
metry was  changed  into  deformity.  He  was  very 
lame,  and  one  arm  appeared  contracted  ;  upon  his 
chest  and  shoulders  were  the  broad  scars  of  many  a 
hard-fought  combat.  The  captive  and  disabled  war- 
rior stood  before  them,  weak  and  defenceless  as  a 
child  ;  but  his  countenance  expressed  none  of  the  fe- 
rocity of  which  he  had  always  been  accused  :  it  was 
calm,  but  not  severe,  and  still  singularly  handsome ; 
yet  its  melancholy  gravity  expressed  a  sense  of  present 
degradation,  though  borne  with  a  dignity  of  which 
his  misfortunes  had  not  been  able  to  rob  him. 

"  Can  this  be  Opecanoff  ?"  exclaimed  the  governor, 
in  involuntary  surprise. 

The  Indian  again  raised  his  eyes  with  the  same  ex- 
pression of  wounded  feeling  as  before,  but  encounter- 
ing the  inquisitive  and  astonished  gaze  of  the  assem- 
bly, they  soon  sank  beneath  their  long  lashes,  and  a 
deep  flush  darkened  his  swarthy  countenance.  His 
lips  quivered,  and  he  pressed  his  hand  tightly  upon 
his  bosom,  as  if  to  quell  the  angry  pulsation  ;  but  the 
struggles  of  pride  soon  ceased,  and  he  confronted  once 
more  that  formidable  gaze.  Waving  his  hand  ma- 
jestically toward  the  governor,  he  said  in  English, 
and  with  an  air  of  dignified  composure,  "  I  am  Ope- 
canoff." 

The  tone  was  so  musical  and  melancholy,  and  the 
countenance  of  the  fallen  chief  so  prepossessing  in  its 
expression  of  dignified  sorrow,  that  there  were  few 
present  who  did  not  experience  emotions  of  compas- 
sion and  admiration.  Sir  George  was  touched  by  the 
princely  bearing  of  this  savage,  as  he  deemed  him,  and 
exclaimed,  with  much  warmth,  "  You  are  most  wel- 
come, great  chief;  and  we  are  only  sorry  to  see  you 
thus  suffering  and  disabled.  Tell  us  how  you  came 
into  such  a  state  as  this  ;  we  wish  to  be  generous  to  a 
fallen  enemy." 

This  speech  was  evidently  perfectly  understood, 
35 


170  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

and  another  flush  passed  over  the  Indian's  face,  but  he 
made  no  reply,  and  stood  passively  before  the  assem- 
bly, apparently  abstracted  from  everything  around 
him. 

But  the  Dahwyotti  became  jealous  of  this  style  of 
interview  between  their  ally  and  hated  foe  ;  and  resent- 
ed the  effect  produced  upon  every  one  present  by  the 
conduct  and  demeanor  of  the  helpless  prisoner ;  they 
addressed  themselves  vehemently  to  the  council,  who, 
however,  understood  not  a  word  of  their  discourse  ; 
and  as  Mr.  Rolfe  was  absent,  it  was  proposed  to  send 
for  Philip  Randolph,  equally  skilled  in  Indian  dialects, 
to  come  and  act  as  interpreter.  The  youth  soon  pre- 
sented himself;  and  intent  upon  performing  the  office 
assigned  him,  never  glanced  at  the  prisoner,  but  ad- 
dressed himself  to  the  Dahwyotts.  He  had  scarcely 
uttered  a  few  sentences,  when  the  hitherto-abstracted 
Opecanoff  started  with  an  impulse  of  surprise  so  sud- 
den and  electric,  that  Philip  hastily  turned  at  the 
movement,  and  looked  inquiringly  at  the  person  who 
had  thus  interrupted  him.  The  youth  seemed  trans- 
fixed when  the  prisoner  spoke  to  him  in  the  well- 
remembered  accents  of  the  west.  The  whole  council 
and  their  Dahwyott  visiters  were  amazed  to  behold 
the  Indian,  with  a  loud  cry,  open  his  arms  and  fold 
Philip  Randolph  to  his  heart.  The  lofty  and  digni- 
fied sagamore  so  far  forgot  the  prejudices  and  stoical 
principles  of  his  race,  the  derision  of  his  enemies,  or 
the  presence  of  the  pale  face,  that  his  head  sank  oil 
the  shoulder  of  the  youth,  and  his  whole  frame  ap- 
peared convulsed  with  violent  emotion.  Philip,  greatly 
affected,  bent  over  him  with  solicitude,  and  supported 
him  for  some  moments,  speaking  in  soothing  tones, 
and  sharing  his  agitation.  The  Indian  became  calmer  : 
with  a  great  effort  he  sprang  up  from  the  sustaining 
arm  of  the  youth,  and  tottered  toward  the  table  ;  but 
he  was  soon  compelled  to  lean  upon  his  shoulder,  and, 
though  he  tried  to  speak,  he  could  not  for  some  mo- 
ments command  his  voice.  His  enemies  laughed  in 
derision  as  the  large  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks  in 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  171 

quick  succession  ;  but  he  did  not  turn  from  them,  and 
remained  for  a  while  struggling  for  composure,  while 
Philip,  not  less  affected,  stood  by  his  side,  wholly  en- 
grossed with  the  melancholy  situation  of  his  friend. 

"  Oneyda  !  I  little  thought  to  meet  you  thus  !" 

When  the  chief  beheld  the  grief  of  his  favorite,  his 
own  emotion  instantly  subsided;  and  after  speaking  to 
him  a  few  words  in  his  native  language,  he  turned  to 
Sir  George,  and  said  in  excellent  English,  with  a  tone 
of  sadness  that  sank  into  every  heart — 

"  Opecanoff  was  a  great  chief  once,  Philip  knows. 
His  name  was  heard  from  the  forest  to  the  salt  river, 
and  the  Yengees  hated  the  red  sachem.  When  Ope- 
canoff was  young,  Powhatan  loved  the  pale  face,  and 
they  were  his  friends,  and  they  came  to  his  dwelling, 
and  the  pipe  of  peace  was  smoked  between  them. 
Opecanoff  could  not  love  the  pale  face  ;  his  heart  was 
red  and  hot  as  the  sun  of  the  rolling  prairie,  and  the 
white  man  laughed  at  him  :  he  called  the  eagle  of  his 
tribe  a  dog.  They  stole  the  red  man's  land,  and  they 
drove  him  away  from  the  big  river;  and  they  took  the 
knife  and  the  hatchet  against  the  tribes  of  the  west, 
and  they  asked  not  the  red  man  where  they  might 
dwell.  Opecanoff  was  a  great  chief,  and  he  said, 
4  The  pale  faces  shall  not  stay  in  the  land  of  my  fa- 
thers.' He  would  not  touch  their  gold  ;  he  would  not 
speak  to  them  any  more.  He  lived  in  his  own  free 
forests ;  he  hunted  wherever  he  would  ;  and  he  sent 
his  young  men  to  drive  away  the  Yengee  from  the 
land."  Here  his  voice  faltered,  and  he  looked  around 
him  with  an  air  of  mingled  regret  and  humility. 

"  You  ordered  that  massacre  !"  said  the  governor, 
sternly  ;  but  his  anger  was  quickly  appeased  by  the 
Indian,  who  rejoined,  in  a  mournful  tone — 

"Opecanoff*  is  changed;  he  is  a  blasted  tree;  the 
storm  has  swept  him  to  the  ground ;  he  is  alone  and 
i  desolate,  and  his  heart  is  withered.  Yengees !  he 
was  your  enemy ;  he  loved  his  own  land  and  his  own 
people,  and  he  hated  the  pale  face.  But  he  is  changed : 
he  would  never  lift  his  hatchet  any  more  against  the 


172  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

pale  faces — he  loves  them  for  Philip's  sake.  Philip 
came  as  a  light  into  the  wigwam  of  the  Indian  :  it  was 
very  dark  till  he  came,  and  he  was  wiser  than  his  red 
father.  He  taught  us  what  was  good  :  he  loved  us — 
we  loved  him  :  he  was  our  son."  Again  he  paused, 
in  emotion.  "  I  sent  him  away  to  his  white  father, 
and  my  wigwam  was  dark  again.  My  child  died  ; 
and  my  wife,  the  flower  of  the  Wyannows,  withered 
in  the  storm,  and  I  buried  them  in  the  same  grave. 
Meahmee  loved  Philip's  God  :  she  went  to  him.  His 
voice  called  to  her  ;  she  said  she  could  not  stay.  God's 
will  was  wiser  than  OpecanofF's  ;  he  gave  them  up, 
and  he  prayed  that  he  might  follow.  The  Dahwyotti 
came  upon  me  when  I  was  weak,  and  they  bore  me 
from  the  grave  of  my  loved  ones  and  brought  me  to 
this  place.  Yengees  !  you  can  kill  Opecanoff  now, 
but  you  need  not :  he  is  weaker  than  a  child,  and  he 
would  not  harm  you  if  he  could.  He  has  found  his 
son ;  he  will  go  with  Philip,  and  Philip  shall  teach 
him  of  his  God — and  he  will  die  and  go  to  Meahmee, 
and  be  at  rest.  Yengees  !  Philip  said  to  me  often, 
4  Love  your  enemies.'  I  do  not  hate  you — I  ask  you 
to  love  me." 

He  ceased,  in  much  exhaustion,  and  a  deep  silence 
succeeded  to  his  words,  which  was  at  length  inter- 
rupted by  Henry  Randolph,  who  now  came  forward 
and  spoke  in  reply  to  the  pleading  looks  of  Philip, 
who  was  too  modest  to  address  his  petition  to  the 
governor,  although  he  so  ardently  desired  it. 

"  Your  excellency  must  be  aware  that  this  extraor- 
dinary man  was  the  kind  and  faithful  protector  of  my 
son  in  his  late  captivity.  Gratitude  and  Christian 
kindness  require  from  us  that  we  should  show  him 
the  like  conduct ;  and  I  entreat,  as  a  very  great  per- 
sonal obligation,  that  we  may  be  allowed  to  receive 
him,  and  attend  to  his  wants,  so  long  as  he  is  willing 
to  remain  with  us.  I  feel. very  grateful  to  you,  wor- 
thy chief,  for  the  friendship  you  showed  to  my  son 
when  he  was  a  captive  among  your  people.  If  you 
are  willing  to  make  trial  of  our  gratitude,  come  with 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  173 

me  to  my  dwelling  ;  my  wife  and  children  will  all 
welcome  our  Indian  friend." 

Opecanoff's  countenance  brightened  at  this  address, 
and  he  held  out  his  hand  to  Henry  Randolph — the 
best  mark  he  could  give  of  his  willingness  and  cor- 
diality ;  but  he  did  not  speak,  and  pointed  expressively 
to  the  Dahwyott  chief,  who  replied  by  a  taunting  sneer, 
and  an  exclamation  of  contempt. 

Philip  could  not  but  contrast  the  present  meek  and 
patient  behavior  of  Oneyda  with  his  proud  domineer- 
ing manner  on  former  occasions ;  which,  though 
never  displayed  toward  himself,  he  had  seen  manifest- 
ed to  others.  Here  was  a  change  indeed  :  surely  a 
very  great  work  had  been  going  on  in  that  heart,  and 
an  important  transformation  taken  place. 

The  governor  requested  Philip  to  inform  the  Dah- 
wyotti  that  it  was  his  pleasure  the  captive  should  be 
left  in  his  charge,  and  that  if  they  could  obtain  a 
fair  concession  from  him  of  his  territories  and  dig- 
nities, the  English  would  not  interfere,  as  it  was 
not  their  intention  to  put  so  defenceless  an  enemy  to 
death. 

The  Dahwyott  chief  then  addressed  himself  to 
Oneyda  in  terms  of  the  most  haughty  and  ungener- 
ous character ;  but  Philip  marked  with  delight  that 
the  reply  of  the  latter  was  conciliating  and  even  hum- 
ble ;  and  though  he  would  not  yield  to  their  require- 
ments without  some  qualification  of  them,  he  showed 
no  anxiety  to  make  use  of  his  present  advantage  in 
being  protected  by  the  English  government.  He  ap- 
peared quite  indifferent  to  his  own  dignity  or  posses- 
sions. "  Go,  go  !"  he  said  ;  "  the  Dahwyotti  know 
that  Oneyda  has  no  name  among  his  people  ;  that  his 
braves  were  cut  down  at  one  stroke  by  the  pale  face. 
Where  are  the  Wyannows  ?  They  are  gone  from 
their  villages,  never  to  return.  Their  shout  will  never 
be  heard  on  the  prairie  ;  and  their  children  weep  for 
their  fathers,  for  their  wigwams  are  empty.  Oneyda 
cares  not  for  his  name  ;  he  is  a  feeble  child  ;  he  comes 
lo  die  among  the  Yengees.  Why  do  the  Dahwyotti 
15* 


174  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

linger  ?  They  may  go,  and  take  their  own :  Opecanoff 
will  not  be  there  to  stay  them." 

But  he  was  by  no  means  indifferent  to  the  rights  of 
his  brother  ;  and  he  would  not  consent  that  any  but 
Appomax  should  be  called  the  sagamore  of  the  west. 
Upon  this  point  he  was  immoveable  ;  and  the  Dah- 
wyotts  departed,  at  length  satisfied  that  they  had 
now  power  enough  to  acquire  the  coveted  dignity, 
and  that  the  feeble  hand  of  a  youth  should  not  stay 
them.  They  had,  indeed,  nothing  to  fear  from  Ap- 
pomax. 

A  few  days  after  Oneyda  had  taken  up  his  abode 
with  the  Randolphs,  Appomax,  wearied  and  exhaust- 
ed by  long  wanderings,  made  his  appearance  in  James- 
town. He  had  left  the  new  village  after  the  seizure 
of  his  brother,  and  undertaken  a  perilous  journey  in 
quest  of  him.  After  roaming  through  the  woods  and 
forests  vainly,  he  at  length  bethought  him  of  the  Eng- 
lish settlements.  It  was  not  improbable  that  the 
treacherous  Dahwyotti  had  given  up  their  detested 
enemy  to  the  pale  faces  ;  and  acting  upon  this  sugges- 
tion, he  hastened  to  the  river-side,  and  found  his  way 
to  the  point  where  he  had  separated  from  Philip. 
With  great  perseverance  he  contrived  to  reach  James- 
town, and  had  just  strength  enough  to  ask  for  Philip. 
Appomax  knew  his  friend  by  no  other  name  ;  and, 
strange  to  say,  the  person  he  addressed  was  Ralph 
Giles,  who  was  leisurel; 
to  his  master's  dwelling. 

"  So  you  wants  Master  Philip,  Red-and-brown. 
Well,  well,  I  suppose  all  the  Indians  in  Virginny  will 
be  asking  for  him,  for  sure  he's  friendly  enough  with 
that  Ouneeda.  To  think  of  any  of  those  jackanapes 
dinnering  and  suppering  with  the  mistress  and  the 
children :  now  that's  taking  things  too  far,  to  my 
thinking.  But  I  suppose  one  good  turn  deserves  an- 
other. Ay,  but  I'm  glad  Master  Philip's  come  back, 
any  way !" 

As  Ralph  thus  muttered  to  himself,  apparently  un- 
conscious or  forgetful  of  his  companion,  who  still  fol- 


PHILIP    RANDOLPH.  175 

lowed,  repeating  his  question,  Philip  himself  came 
up,  with  some  fagots  on  his  shoulder,  and  the  re- 
quest of  the  stranger  was  instantly  brought  to  the 
mind  of  the  serving-man-,  who  instinctively  touched 
his  hat,  and  said,  with  a  lurking  smile  of  humor, 
«•  Well,  for  sure  now,  Master  Philip,  you  be  grown  a 
great  man,  for  all  the  Indians  come  looking  after  you. 
Here's  another  Ouneeda,  only  in  little  better  condition, 
that  can  say  nothing  but  your  name,  and  that  seems 
to  be  enough,  for  you  come  up  just  to  his  hand  in  a 
moment." 

"Ah  !"  said  Philip,  looking  at  the  stranger,  whom 
he  did  not  recognise,  for  nothing  could  be  more  un- 
like Appomax  than  the  worn  and  torn  figure  before 
him.     "  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  my  friend  ?" 

Appomax  saw  that  he  was  not  remembered,  and 
for  a  few  moments  stood  before  Philip  with  a  swelling 
heart,  silent  from  disappointment  and  wounded  feeling. 
But  at  length  he  found  words  to  say  that  he  had  come 
to  hear  tidings  of  Opecanoff,  sagamore  of  the  Wyan- 
nows,  whom  the  falsehearted  Dahwyotti  had  deliv- 
ered to  the  Yengees.  No  sooner  had  he  said  this, 
than  Philip,  recognising  the  peculiar  tones  of  his 
friend,  threw  down  his  fagots  and  embraced  him,  all 
soiled  and  untidy  as  he  was.  The  meeting  was  very 
joyous  on  both  sides,  and  Philip  led  home  Appomax 
in  triumph,  sending  Ralph  Giles  before  him  to  an- 
nounce the  new  arrival. 

"Another  !  another  !"  cried  Ralph  to  Bridget,  who 
was  arranging  some  part  of  Alice's  attire. 

"Another  what,  man?" 

"  Another  Indian,  for  sure,  to  be  brought  home  and 
lodged  and  fed  just  like  Ouneeda.  What  do  you  think 
of  tfiat,  dame  ?" 

"  Well,  but  thou  knowest  they  be  all  so  kind  to 
Master  Philip  and  little  Mistress  Alice,  I'll  never 
grudge  lodging  and  feeding,  not  I,"  replied  Bridget. 
The  string  was  wrenched  from  her  hand  ;  away  flew 
Alice,  screaming  "Appomax,  Appomax  ! — I  know  it 
is !" — and,  rushing  into  the  room  where  her  mother 


176  PHILIP    RANDOLPH. 

was  then  sitting  with  Oneyda,  at  the  time  profitably 
engaged  in  following  up  the  instructions  of  Doctor 
Haverdean,  she  exclaimed,  "  Appomax  is  come, 
Oneyda ! — come  out,  and  let  us  all  have  a  merry 
meeting." 

The  chief  started  from  his  seat,  and  for  an  instant 
an  angry  shade  passed  over  his  brow.  "  He  should 
have  stayed  with  the  Wyannows.    Where  are  they  V 

"  He  is  come  to  see  his  lost  brother,"  said  Marga 
ret  Randolph,  sweetly,  "  and  I  am  sure  you  will  give 
him  a  kind  welcome." 

The  meeting  was  entirely  without  emotion  on  the 
part  of  the  brothers.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that 
both  felt  much  and  tenderly ;  but  they  did  not  permit 
any  manifestation  of  feeling  to  escape  them.  Oneyda 
soon  resumed  his  seat,  while  Appomax  stood  respect- 
fully before  him,  as  if  waiting  to  be  questioned  ;  but 
his  brother  reserved  all  inquiries  till  they  were  alone. 

Appomax  would  not  leave  his  brother,  who  was  fast 
verifying  his  own  words,  that  he  had  come  to  die 
among  the  Yengees.  He  was  sinking  into  the  grave 
by  sure  steps,  and  well  knew  his  real  condition.  Doc- 
tor Haverdean  visited  him  daily,  instructed  both  the 
brothers,  received  proofs  of  their  sincerity  and  earnest 
desire  to  lead  a  new  life,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of 
witnessing  most  consistent  conduct  from  them. 

Philip  was  unwearied  in  his  assiduities  to  the  dying 
chief.  He  felt  an  intense  though  melancholy  interest 
in  observing  his  spiritual  progress — in  beholding  how 
gradually  with  him,  but  how  surely,  old  things  were 
passing  away.  Oneyda  was  changed  indeed  :  human- 
ized he  had  long  been,  but  he  was  now  gentle,  easy  to 
be  entreated,  meek  and  childlike  in  spirit,  and  to  the 
last  expressed  his  anxiety  that  missionaries  should  be 
sent  to  his  people,  to  teach  them  the  truths  which  he 
now  valued  so  highly  ;  thus  testifying  his  sense  of  the 
great  mercies  bestowed  upon  himself.  He  died,  leav- 
ing behind  him  a  mourning  brother,  and  a  true  and 
constant  friend.  But  Philip  could  not  mourn  for 
Oneyda.     He  rejoiced  in  his  happiness  being  ma 


PHTLTP    RANDOLPH.  177 

sure.  He  could  only  think  of  the  exchange  which 
he  had  made  from  darkness  to  light — from  earthly  suf- 
fering to  glory  ;  and  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  spirit  he 
offered  thanksgivings  to  God  for  having  enabled  him 
to  have  been  instrun: 
the  error  of  his  way. 

The  year  following  the  death  of  Oneyda,  Philip 
went  to  England,  accompanied  by  Appomax,  and  both 
young  men  had  the  honor  of  being  presented  to  King 
Charles  T.  They  were  graciously  received,  and  the  in- 
terview made  a  deep  and  lasting  impression  upon  them. 

Appomax  nev  r  regained  his  taste  for  Indian  life  and 
manners,  thou^  he  frequently  visited  the  native  tribes, 
and  acted  on  many  important  occasions  as  interpreter 
or  ambassador.  He  was  most  anxious  to  spread  the 
gospel  among  them,  and  was  blessed  with  some  degree 
of  success.  His  chief  happiness  was  bound  up  in  Phil- 
ip, who  ever  showed  him  the  most  constant  friendship. 

Philip  Randolph  lived  a  useful  and  honorable  life, 
and  died  much  regretted  by  a  large  family  and  numer- 
ous friends.  He  was  buried  in  the  shady  churchyard 
of  Jamestown  ;  and  a  simple  monument  raised  to  his 
memory,  bore  this  significant  inscription,  which  all 
may  do  well  to  ponder  : — 


— ^  €m^  +f~*y~*rr>y/<?' 


